


Stardust

by Tiriniel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Church Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiriniel/pseuds/Tiriniel
Summary: When Byleth fades away in the aftermath of Nemesis' defeat, Claude must face building a new dawn by himself, without the woman he loves by his side. Byleth is forced to relive the same few years over and over again on different sides of an inevitable war, while Claude must work to put a war-torn world back together - alone.A tale of two lovers separated by fate, and how they find their way back together again.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 40
Kudos: 137





	1. Verdant Wind

She felt it beginning as soon as Nemesis turned to dust.

Byleth watched as the King of Unification faded on the wind, his glowing red eyes the last thing she saw before he was completely gone. Giddy joy filled her, her smile stretching so wide it split her face in two. After all that time, after all those battles, they had finally _won_.

It was over.

Claude had been thrown far by Nemesis' strike. She turned to face him, her breath catching in her throat, only to be let out in a long sigh as she saw emerald eyes blinking up at her, disbelief and rising hope warring with pain. He was no doubt bruised and battered, maybe even a few broken bones, but he was going to live.

She took a step towards him, then staggered. Her hand reached up to press against her chest, where her still heart lay alongside the Crest Stone that gave her life. It felt like something inside her… _crumbling_ , was the only way she could put it.

Byleth recovered, started to walk towards Claude again. She kept the smile plastered across her face. It wouldn't do to alarm the troops. But even as she reached her hand to help Claude to his feet, she knew.

The Crest Stone—Sothis' heart—wasn't working the way it was supposed to. For some reason that Byleth didn't understand, it was tied to the King of Liberation's fate.

Claude's hand was warm in hers. His fingers tightened around her own. He shot her a concerning look before he let go—no doubt he had seen her falter. But he didn't say anything, and it wasn't enough to keep his own brilliant smile from shining.

They turned to face their army together. It should have been a moment of utter victory, of new hope.

Instead, Byleth only felt hollow.

* * *

In the two day march back to Garreg Mach, Byleth made a point of spending some time with all her Golden Deer.

They were all injured in some way. It had been a fight for their lives against Nemesis, their very way of existence. But the elation of having won kept their spirits high through their pain, and they spoke of little else but the victory celebration they expected once they got back to the monastery.

"It's going to be amazing, Professor," Hilda assured her as they walked beside her injured wyvern. The beast had been shot down by Reigan, breaking a wing in the process. It could still walk, so they were taking it back the long way. It only tolerated Hilda's presence, and Byleth's if she accompanied her. Claude was still affronted by the way it had tried to bite him when Hilda was first training it.

"I've got _just_ the outfit for the occasion, and the accessories to match. And Marianne has allowed me to dress her up too! Can you imagine how adorable she's going to look once I'm done?"

Byleth could indeed imagine. Marianne had come out of her shell in the years Byleth was asleep, but the young woman had blossomed in the past year. A lot of that could be attributed to Lorenz's determined affection. If they had been trying to hide it from everyone else, they hadn't done a good job of it.

Would Byleth last that long? She wasn't sure. That morning as she had packed up her bedroll, she had noted the dust that fell from her hands, too much to be normal. It was happening slower than to Nemesis—but it _was_ happening.

All she could do was keep the company of everyone she cared about, and cement their faces in her memory. The way they looked, the way they sounded—even if she faded, she didn't ever want to forget them.

Byleth hadn't told anyone what was happening to her. What was the point? They wouldn't be able to stop it in time, and she didn't want her last few days to be filled with grief.

It was a relief that Claude was preoccupied with the army and some concern of his own. If he had spent more time with her, he would have worked out very quickly that something was wrong. Byleth had no secrets left from him—just this one.

_Claude_. Byleth's throat tightened, and the little bag with her father's ring in it burned in her pocket. She had brought it to the battle as a sort of good luck charm. If it was with her, then maybe she would have a future in which she gave it away.

That wouldn't be happening now. As soon as she got back to the monastery, Byleth was going to put it inside her bedside table. She didn't want to risk it turning to dust as well, not when it was all that remained of her parents.

Tears stung at her eyes. She brushed them away, forcing her face to resume its normal relaxed expression. She wanted that future where she could give the ring to someone she loved, and loved her in return. Byleth had only recently begun to think of life outside of the war, and she didn't want to give that hope up now that it had had a chance to grow.

_It's not fair._ Her expression remained still, even as her mind rebelled. _I wanted to see the world we were going to build._ Claude's dreams had become her own over time, bright and beautiful and worth striving for.

The breeze brushed at her cheek. Byleth turned her face to watch the trail of dust that it took with it, drifting through the forest.

"…Professor? Hello, Professor, are you listening to me?"

_Right. Hilda._ Byleth shoved the despair as far down as she could manage. It wasn't gone, not at all, but she could work past it to stay in the present for as long as she had left.

"I'm listening," Byleth said. The smile that she gave Hilda was small but real. "You were talking about what Marianne is going to wear."

Hilda gave Byleth an odd look, but launched into a lengthy description of the fabric she had bought before they had left for the fight. Byleth let her talk without interruption, the smile growing.

Her lifespan might be short, her time on this world limited, but to have spent it with people like Hilda, like Claude? It was worth it.

* * *

When they got back to Garreg Mach, there was no time to rest. Edelgard was dead, Nemesis and Those Who Slither In The Dark were defeated, and it was time to look to the future.

Byleth was unsurprised to learn that Rhea had passed away while they were gone. The woman had been barely clinging to life when they had left. Since she had passed on her secrets about Byleth's existence, the Archbishop had finally let go and gone to join her lost people.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Byleth had spent so long searching for Rhea, and for answers. The woman had meddled heavily in Byleth's life, and Byleth wasn't convinced that Rhea ever saw her or just Sothis' vessel. But Byleth also owed her existence to the woman, and Rhea had led her to the people that now mattered most to her.

However, it was easy to shove her own feelings on the matter to the side when she saw the raw pain on Seteth's face. Rhea was his family, after all, and he had so little of that left. It was one step closer to his race finally fading from existence.

It seemed that Seteth was the type to bury his grief under work. Everyone was discussing the leadership vacancy. What would become of Fódlan, now that the coalition of the Church and the Alliance had effectively conquered it? Seteth made it clear that he had no interest in becoming Archbishop himself, and it was increasingly obvious who he had in mind for the job.

Byleth didn't have the heart to tell him that he would have to either find someone else or step up himself. She was also grateful that the Lords of the Alliance who flocked to the monastery in the wake of Nemesis' defeat also did not say their intentions to her face.

After all, there were only two real candidates to take over leadership of Fódlan. There was Byleth, and there was Claude.

Soon, there would be only Claude.

Byleth found herself caught up in meeting after meeting. Even if the question of Fódlan's leadership was put aside for the moment, there was still so much to do. The armies had to be disbanded, the battlefields cleaned up, the dead buried and the living looked after. Byleth's head spun with all the reports she had to read, and the memos she had to send. When she wasn't discussing the army with her generals, she was drowning in paperwork.

Three days after arriving back at Garreg Mach, Byleth set aside the last report on the supply chains and leaned back in her chair. Everyone in the cardinal's room was slumped, eyes redshot from strain. Byleth heaved a sigh, looking around the room at her Golden Deer and the Knights of Seiros. How was it that they were all so exhausted even after the war was over?

Seteth cleared his throat. "There is one last thing we should discuss before we adjourn."

Byleth resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands instead. _Enough already!_ she wanted to scream. _I don't have enough time left for this!_ Byleth had a day left, maybe. She was the vessel of the Goddess of Time, and she knew this in her bones.

She didn't want to be here in this meeting. She wanted to be dining with her friends, basking in their presence for a little bit longer. The Church could take care of itself. Byleth wanted to be selfish for once. Hadn't she earned that right?

But it was not the time or place for an argument, not when Byleth couldn't bring herself to tell them why she was so desperate for time with them. "What haven't we covered?" she asked instead. Let them get it over with, so that they could be free of the room faster.

Seteth met her eyes from across the table. "Your coronation ceremony." Byleth breathed in sharply, her eyes widening as Seteth ploughed on. "We cannot go too long without an Archbishop, and you are the successor that Rhea nominated."

_Should I tell him?_ Byleth wondered. She was conscious of all eyes on her right now, the weariness overtaken with anticipation. She opened her mouth to say that she would not make it, but the words couldn't make it past the lump in her throat.

To stall for time, she looked around the room, meeting everyone's gazes one by one. She faltered when she reached Claude. His eyes narrowed at her, then softened. She wondered what it was that he saw in her that the others hadn't. He could always read her too well.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell them. Byleth knew that it was selfish, and that it would hurt them either way. But she couldn't bring herself to ruin her last day with frustration and tears.

"Alright," Byleth said instead. "How about we make it the day after tomorrow?"

She would be gone by then.

Seteth's eyes widened at the easy acquiescence. Clearly, he had been expecting her to argue against it. Once upon a time, Byleth would have. She was a mercenary at heart, not an Archbishop. It was still hard to wrap her head around the idea that she was also a teacher.

With that agreed on, they scattered for the evening. Byleth caught Sylvain's eye as they rose. The two of them and Hilda had plans to dine together. See you at the dining hall, she mouthed. Byleth wanted a moment to herself first. She felt a little queasy at the deception she had just orchestrated.

Byleth waited for everyone else to leave first before heading out. As she passed through the door, a hand caught hers and tugged her to the side. Byleth looked up at emerald eyes and a cheeky grin, and her own smile blossomed in return.

She needed to tell him how happy he made her before she died. Byleth had spent all her life without emotion, and while Claude couldn't claim sole responsibility for bringing her out of her shell, he was a major part of it.

“We need to talk before the ceremony,” he told her, voice low and intense. “Meet me at the Goddess Tower at sunset tomorrow?”

Byleth calculated the time in her head. It would be pushing it. Maybe she should suggest sunrise instead. But they were both so busy; Claude wouldn’t have suggested that time unless it were the only one he could make.

She would have to hold on for just a little longer.

“Of course.” The words were difficult to choke out. Byleth hoped her smile made up for it. Claude seemed reluctant to drop her hand, letting his fingers trail through hers as he pulled away. It made Byleth's head spin with longing for what could no longer be.

With one last scorching look and a swish of his cape, Claude was gone. Byleth stood alone in the corridor, still feeling the pressure of Claude's fingers on her own, long after he let go.

Or was that it? She held up her hand to the light of the nearest torch. Little particles of dust lifted off it with the movement. Her skin didn't look quite like skin anymore. There were more particles swirling just beneath the surface.

She might have a day left, but she wasn't going to be able to hide it. Not at the end. She was looking less human by the minute.

Byleth closed her eyes, tucking her hand into the sleeves of her greatcoat. _Just a little longer,_ she begged internally, knowing there was no one listening now. _I'm not ready to go yet._

For a few long moments, Byleth waited for a response that never came. Her hands clenched harder with each breath that passed without a response. Then she opened her eyes, took a deep breath and went to join her students for one last meal.

* * *

The sunset was gorgeous. Byleth learnt against the wall of the window, drinking in the pink and orange clouds. The wind brushed her face, taking pieces of dust with it.

She was more dust than person now. Byleth had avoided everyone all day because of it. Every minute dragged by, and she lost pieces of herself with every one.

Byleth wanted nothing more than to see a new dawn. This sunset was glorious, but it wasn't the same.

She'd take it anyway.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Byleth would recognise Claude's distinct step anywhere. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, even as her eyes burned. She was so grateful that he was here, at the last.

“There you are, my friend. I was a little worried you weren’t coming, no one has seen you all day.” At the rich sound of his voice, a tear finally escaped. Instead of water, dust flowed into the air.

She turned around to face him properly, taking note of the brilliant smile on his face even as it turned into horror.

“ _Byleth_ ,” he breathed. She had never heard such fear in him. Claude surged forward, reaching a hand to touch her on the shoulder.

It went right through her, and she didn't feel a thing. The dust flew everywhere at the disturbance, soon carried away like her tears.

Claude shook his head, stricken. “No,” he said under his breath. “Please, not you.” He kept repeating it, and it was all Byleth could do to hold what was left of herself together, in more ways than one.

“Tell me how to fix this,” he soon ordered her, voice tight. “There has to be a way!”

Byleth shook her head. The ends of her hair disappear with the movement. “I'm sorry.” At least she still had speech, and sight. She could drink him in like she had the sunset, the last thing she ever saw.

She watched as he sucked in a shuddering breath. His whole body shook. It was the most discomposed she had ever seen him. Every part of her ached to reach out, to hold him and tell him that she would be fine. But even that had been stolen from her.

Eventually, he pulled himself back under control with a skill honed by years of practice. Only the ever-present quivering of his shoulders betrayed how wrecked he still was.

“This wasn't what I had in mind when I asked you to meet me here,” he told her, voice deceptively steady

Byleth couldn't help the tiny laugh that escaped her. She knew it was wholly inappropriate, but she couldn’t stop it. “I know,” she said. She made no pretence at composure. She was the emotionless Ashen Demon no more.

He reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling something small and shiny out. He held it out to her, a silver and emerald ring balanced on the palm of his black glove.

“I was going to ask you to marry me tonight.”

She stared at it for a long moment, thinking of another ring safe in her bedside drawer. In another time, she would have it with her tonight, for the same reason as Claude. Byleth smiled. How could someone be so overwhelmingly happy and sad at the same time?

Byleth tilted her head up to look Claude in the eyes and imagined the future they might have had. She thought of long days made easier by his constant presence at her side, of bantering over the dinner table as they decided the direction of their new nation. She thought of children with dark hair and her eyes, or maybe mint hair and emerald eyes.

“I would have said yes.” She watched the tears finally flow freely, streaming down his face.

He tucked the ring away and reached for her again. This time, his hand hovered just above her cheek. She closed her eyes and tilted her head into his palm, wishing that she could feel his touch.

He waited until she opened her eyes again to speak. Claude looked at her with the same intense focus that he only gave that which mattered most to him.

“I love you,” he said. “With everything that I am.”

She was growing hollow. Days had dwindled to seconds. It took all of her strength to stay long enough to memorise the look of his face, the sound of his voice.

“I love you,” she murmured. “I wish…” her voice trailed away. She wished for so many things, it was hard to pick just one to say.

She wished to watch a new dawn with him. She wished to start and end every day with him, to grow old by his side. They had such a large task before them, and now Claude would have to walk it alone. Her destruction would threaten the peace they had so tentatively forged, making his path hardier and lonelier.

He was fading before her. No, it wasn't Claude that was fading. It was her.

“I wish I could stay here with you.”

Then she was gone, leaving Claude standing alone at the top of the Goddess Tower, bathed in light.

* * *

She dreamed of battle.

Armies rushed at each other over a great plain. The sky was dark, clouds covering the stars from view. Or was it smoke? The smell of burning flesh was so strong that she could almost taste it.

The fact that it was night seemed wrong to her. She could have sworn that it was supposed to be day.

In the centre of the two armies were two people locked in bitter combat. A man with a sword that detaches into a whip, and a woman with long green hair. But where was the third? She didn't know why she thought there must be another person.

And the woman wasn't quite right either. The hair was the wrong shade, the face too enraged, and she fought with a sword and shield that looked too normal.

Nothing was quite right with this scene. Before she could understand what unnerved her so, it faded away, leaving her with the vision of the woman cradling the fallen man's sword as his corpse bled out nearby.

The battlefield was replaced by darkness, and a green throne. A girl lounged upon it, studying her with alien eyes that see right through her.

_Who are you?_ the girl asked her.

_I am a ghost_ , she replied.


	2. Azure Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's been reading along so far. The ride is only going to get rougher for our couple, but I do promise a happy ending by the end.

_Derdriu, Guardian Moon, Year 1187_

"They'll be here in two days."

Claude leaned over the map, hands clenched on the side of the table. He didn't look up, eyes intent on the figurines marking the approaching enemy army.

"How did they do this?" he mused aloud, brows furrowing. "It's an _army_. It's not as if it's easy to sneak it across the damn countryside."

Beside him, Claude could see Leonie cross her arms out of the corner of his eye. "It's not your fault, Claude. We thought we'd defeated them. We _all_ did."

Claude didn't respond, only the tightening of his already too tight grip sign that he heard her. Leonie's eyes bored into the side of his head. "Claude," she said, trying to get his attention.

He still didn't look up. Leonie huffed. " _Your majesty._ "

At the sound of his new title, Claude's eyes closed. He wasn't used to it, didn't think he ever would be truly comfortable with it. He had spent his whole life knowing that he would be a king someday, but not like this.

It shouldn't be him.

Claude opened his eyes, pushing up from the table and flashing Leonie a tight grin. They both knew it was false, but she was kind enough not to call him out for it. "We'll make do," he told her, filling his voice with confidence that he didn't feel. "We always do."

Leonie reached out and clasped his shoulder. "We're ready for it," she told him, locking gazes. "So hurry up and think of a crazy scheme to win the day. We both know you'll think of something in time."

"Of course I will." He had _nothing_. But he wasn't going to admit that, not when he had any other choice.

She squeezed his shoulder one last time, then headed out. The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Claude alone in his study at last.

Without anyone to perform for, Claude dropped the act of an unshakeable leader. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned back on the desk for balance. Who was he to think that he could do this?

He raised his head, looked around the room. It used to be his grandfather's. But for the past five years, ever since his grandfather's death, it had been his. All those years, he had run the Alliance from this room, fending off Edelgard and the Empire as the Leader of the Leicester Alliance.

Now, they called him the King of Unification, and all of Fódlan was his to care for.

His mouth curled downward at the thought of his title. When Claude had first come to Fódlan, he had never intended to stay. He had expected to head home after he had done his time at the Officer's Academy, using what he had learned to prepare for when he was King of Almyra.

He hadn't been home in nearly eight years. First there had been the war, then… Claude wrenched his mind away from the thought before he could complete it. His heart ached too much to go near that memory, and he couldn't afford to let himself fall apart, not with so much relying on him.

His parents had urged him to return several months previously, when the war had ended. Claude had fully intended on doing so, leaving Fódlan in good hands. Instead, there he was, tied so deeply to Fódlan that he doubted he would ever free himself.

Claude caught sight of himself in the mirror over the fireplace as his gaze wandered, pausing at it. He looked… _haggard_ , was probably the best way of describing himself. It wasn't the bags under his eyes, or the missed whiskers that he refused to let someone else shave for him. No, Claude wasn't foolish enough to let anyone else bring a blade to his throat, not after having survived so many assassination attempts growing up.

It was his eyes, Claude decided. There was no hope left in them, no spark.

He had lost that five months ago, with…

He shook his head. _The army_ , Claude reminded himself. He'd indulged in feeling sorry for himself long enough. Time spent with his own company was rare enough now that he was king of all Fódlan. Better spend it coming up with a way out of their mess.

Claude turned around, looking at the map again. The figurine representing the rebel army felt like it was staring up at him, wooden eyes gleaming with smugness. He glared at it in return, brows crinkling with a sudden surge of hate.

What was it going to take to squash those damn Argathans once and for all?

He knew what he would do if he had more soldiers. He'd evacuate the city, lure them inside the walls and pin them down, while another force swept around and caught them in a pincer move. But he didn't have more people. The army had been mainly disbanded, as all the lords took their forces back to protect their own lands. And Almyra… there was no way to get word to Nader in time.

Or was there? A single wyvern rider could go unnoticed, going at top speed without stopping for breaks. Without having to worry about civilians, Claude could hold the enemy army at Derdriu for a few days, even a week or two. He would have to pull out all stops to manage it, but he knew he could.

Stars, Hilda was going to be _pissed_ when she heard what Claude needed her to do. But there was no one else that Nader would listen to, no one else that Claude could trust with something as important as this. Hilda had never let him down when it really mattered.

It was settled then. Claude just had to go gather everyone, tell them the plan and get them started on preparations. There was a lot to do before the enemy arrived, and not enough time to do it.

As he squared his shoulders and went to leave his study, Claude hesitated one last time as he looked at the mirror. The man in the mirror looked self-assured, the type of person one could trust to make the right decisions; a leader. But his eyes… there was no helping his eyes.

Claude clenched his jaw and wrenched his gaze away. This was his life now. He would have to make the best of it, as he always had. Claude was nothing if not adaptable.

No matter how much his heart still screamed in agony, he would keep moving forward. There was still a new dawn to create.

* * *

_Garreg Mach, Verdant Moon, Year 1181_

Byleth sighed as she surveyed her Lions. They were restless that day, trapped inside by a fresh snowfall. Unlike most of the people at the monastery, the people of the Kingdom thrived in the cold. She had never seen Sylvain quite so alert this early in the morning.

"I'm telling you, she was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he was expounding to anyone who would listen. Felix harrumphed loudly in response, and Ingrid was fidgeting so badly that Byleth thought the girl was about to launch herself at Sylvain out of pure anger.

"It's such a shame that she was obviously taken," Sylvain continued with a sigh. "If only I stood a chance. She held his hand _all day,_ wouldn't let anyone pry her loose from his side."

Ashe turned around in his seat, eyes wide. "But that's so romantic," he said, voice growing higher with excitement. "To be so in love like that."

Put it that way, Ingrid visibly relaxed. Byleth suppressed another sigh, this time of relief that a fight wasn't going to break out inside the classroom. Unlike them, Byleth wasn't too keen on the cold. The last thing she wanted to be doing was pulling errant students off each other.

"Love is a myth," Felix grunted. "All a man needs is his weapon."

"Felix!" Annette squealed. "What a horrible thing to say!"

With that, all the Lions started talking at once. Even Dimitri and Dedue found themselves gradually drawn into the chaos. Byleth let the sound wash over her and sighed again, turning to the blackboard and beginning to draw battle formations on it while they were distracted.

Emotions were… easier, in a way. She wasn't the emotionless automaton that she began as, but she wasn't quite as open as she used to be. Byleth had learned through hardship and heartache to keep her cards close to her chest, much as an emerald-eyed schemer she used to know.

Her lips thinned at the thought of him. She couldn't escape him, no matter how much she tried. He was a ghost of a timeline that she could no longer reach. She would be better off remembering only the lessons she learned, and forgetting the people. But he lingered in her mind and her still heart, ever present in her thoughts.

It took her a few moments to realise that the room had fallen silent. Byleth lowered the chalk from the blackboard, turning around with a blank expression to face her class. Every last eye was on her, waiting in anticipation.

"Are you finally ready to learn?" she asked, voice deadpan.

Ashe shook his head. "No, Professor, we asked if you'd ever been in love!"

The chalk clattered to the ground. Byleth used the few moments it took to bend over and pick it up to reboot her thoughts, fighting to keep her composure.

"What brought this on?"

"Sylvain's story," Annette piped up. "Then Felix said—ooh, it really doesn't matter. _Have_ you been in love before, Professor?" Byleth's shoulders hunched in on themselves at all the expectant eyes, feeling like a deer surrounded by wolves.

She thought about all the responses she could give to that question. It would be quickest to simply deny it, and get on with class. How would they know, after all?

But Byleth had never been given to lying. It would feel wrong to start now, when the only thing Byleth would protect by it was herself.

"I have." Thank Sothis that her voice came out steady.

It was her class' turn to go still, staring at her with wide eyes. It was clear that none of them had expected that response. Byleth dropped her gaze, staring intently at the floor, cheeks burning.

"Could you tell us about them, Professor?" Ashe eventually ventured. "Who are they? How did you meet? Do we know them? Can we meet them?" The boy shrunk back in embarrassment at the number of questions he'd spouted, but kept his head held high.

Emerald eyes, and a brilliant smile. Byleth shook her head, her throat tight. "I lost him," she managed. "Before I came here."

Now that Byleth was talking, she couldn't stop the flood of words from escaping her. "He was Almyran, a Barbarossa—wyvern lord. We fought side by side for nearly two years. I lost him the same day he asked me to marry him."

"Would you have?" Ingrid asked quietly. Byleth knew that the girl was thinking of her own many suitors, all after a Crest instead of a person.

She swallowed, her throat parched. She could almost feel the ring on her finger. How heavy would it have been? "Yes."

A heavy silence fell after that. No one knew what to say, glancing at each other with long expressions. Byleth cleared her throat, clutching the chalk in her hand. Dust fell to the floor as her fingers rubbed against it. She glanced down, saw the chalk dust on the floor, and it felt as if the world had tipped upside down.

For a moment, she feared finding herself on the floor. But the moment passed, and Byleth remained upright. She cleared her throat one last time, as if it would help.

"Back to battle formations." Byleth turned back to the blackboard, focusing on the diagrams. "When dealing with combined wyvern and pegasus troops…"

The rest of the day passed without incident. Though her students kept stealing glances at her all through class and training, they never tried to bring up the topic of her lost love. Byleth was glad. She hoped they would forget about it. She should never have talked about it in the first place.

It still hurt too much to remember him, especially watching a younger, colder-eyed version traipsing around the monastery.

Just as Byleth went to settle in for the evening, there was a knock on her door. She eyed it from her chair, having barely sat down. That knock had a familiar pattern to it, but why was he here?

She let her father in without a word, watched as he settled on her bed. The frame creaked under his weight, but held. The furniture at the monastery was built to last, after all, even after generations of young officers had used it.

"Your brats cornered me at dinner today," he said without preamble. "Asking me about someone who doesn't exist. You've been telling them tall tales."

Of course—he didn't remember, didn't _know_. Every word that Byleth had said was the truth, but how could he know? From his perspective, he had spent every day for the past twenty years by her side. There was no way her story could be true, except that it was.

He sighed, resting his arms on his knees. "You've been… _different_ since we came here. More open." Jeralt shook his head. "But I have to say, I wasn't expecting _this_ to be the result."

"I'm not that different," Byleth said, a touch defensively.

Jeralt gave her a sharp look. Byleth heaved a sigh that resembled her father's, dropping her gaze as it became difficult to meet him in the eye. Shame and grief warred within her, and she felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

She wouldn't cry in front of him. Not when the last time she had done so had been because he was dying in her arms, blood pooling on the ground.

"Hey." A large hand clasped her shoulder, as the other took her by the chin and gently tipped her head up. Jeralt's gaze was warm, fond even while it was exasperated. He grew blurry in front of her as she began to lose the battle with her emotions.

He made a strangled noise deep in his chest and pulled her into the circle of his arms. Byleth leaned against her father's chest, hearing the muffled beat of his heart underneath his thick jacket. He felt safe. He always had.

"We'll get through this," Jeralt murmured, resting his chin against the top of her head. "I'm here."

 _But you won't be_ , she thought. _Not for much longer_. She hadn't been able to change fate last time. She couldn't bring herself to hold onto hope that she would be able to this time.

That was still a few months away. She had time. So for the moment, Byleth leant on her father, drawing strength from his solid presence.

She couldn't tell him about what happened to her in the timeline-that-wasn't. But that didn't mean he couldn't be there for her, at that moment.

* * *

_Almyra, Great Tree Moon, Year 1188_

"I don't want to hear it." Claude's jaw clenched with frustration as he glared at his parents. "This isn't the time or place."

"Then when is?" There was no doubt to any bystander that Tiana von Reigan was Claude's mother. They had the same fierce emerald eyes, the same stubborn tilt to their heads. Her already fair hair had lightened with age, and wrinkles now lined the corner of her eyes and mouth, but she was still both an exceptional beauty and a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.

She stepped closer to Claude. He stood his ground, refusing to back down. The time when he might have given way to her was long over, ever since Claude had left to go live with his grandfather. Now, they were equals in rank, and Claude's responsibility with leading an Alliance at war had aged him too quickly for his tender years.

"You have no need to marry for politics," she continued. "Your position is strong. But you should not be alone. The responsibility you have taken on yourself… it is too much for one person to walk by themselves."

In what was a rare occasion for a man known for his silver tongue, Claude found himself at a loss for words. He looked over at where his father sat in a chair with far too many cushions. Unlike his wife, Saheem el Fahad no longer had the strength of his youth. Though his mind remained as sharp as ever, his body grew frailer, his legs bowed and making walking difficult, let alone fighting.

"She is not wrong, my son," the King of Alymra said. "I have had my wife with me for all these years. You need someone to walk beside you, as I had."

"I can introduce you to some nice Almyran girls while you're here." Tiana nodded to herself, as if coming to an agreement. "Pretty, strong, and good with an axe, as expected of a good Alymran woman."

For a moment, the thought of Hilda wearing an Almyran veil while wielding her giant axe popped into Claude's head. He suspected that of all his female acquaintances, his mother would like her the best. It was a good thing that they were unlikely to meet anytime soon.

But the heartache that he always bore swept it away, leaving the image of mint green hair burned into the back of his eyelids. Claude looked away from his parents, jaw stiffening not from holding back anger, but holding back grief.

"Khalid?" A small, calloused hand touched his jaw. He turned back to face his mother, doing his best to clear his expression.

This only made her frown harder. "What's wrong, darling?" She used the same tone as she had when he was little and trying to hide a bruise from her, not wanting to worry her. All those years had passed since his childhood, but some things never changed, and a mother's love for her son was one of them.

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

A finger tapped his cheek hard, just above the edge of his beard. "It's not nothing." She looked up at him, studying him. "You're hurting."

He forced a carefree grin onto his face. "Ma, I'm the very image of perfect health."

"No," she decided, cupping his cheek properly. "Not your body. Your heart."

Claude stared down at her. He was nearly a head taller than her now. When had that happened? It was so easy in her presence to feel like the child that had left, but he wasn't that child any longer. Not with the grief that twined through every inch of his being.

He leaned into her touch, his eyes slipping shut. He never could get away with anything with his mother; she always saw straight through him, just as she did now.

"There was someone," he said eventually, voice halting on every word. His mother breathed in sharply. "She… she didn't make it through the war."

"Oh, Khalid." Leanly muscled arms twined their way around his shoulders, pulling him down so that his face was pressed into the crook of her neck.

Claude wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her shoulder, eyes scrunched up. The angle was awkward, but he was long past caring. He wished he could cry, let the grief out, but tears were not something that came easily to him.

Dragging footsteps drew nearer, as did the smell of spice. His father wrapped his arms around the both of them, bringing them into the circle of his embrace. Surrounded on all sides by his family, Claude had never felt so secure.

"I was going to marry her," he mumbled into his mother's shoulder. "Had a ring and everything."

"Did she love you?" his father asked. Claude felt the rumble in his chest with the words.

He thought about the way she had smiled at him, even as she fell apart. He had grown used to being the centre of her attention long before that. She didn't show her emotions easily, but she felt just as deeply as anyone else.

He nodded, his face still hidden. "Yes, she does. Did." Claude laughed, a broken sound. "She was everything."

Tiana stroked the back of his hair. "I am happy that you knew a love like that, even for a little bit. I am so sorry, darling."

 _So am I_ , he thought. He could have stayed in the safety of their embrace for hours. Instead, he shuddered and pulled away, rebuilding his walls one piece at a time as he stepped back and brushed the wrinkles out of his clothes.

"You see why I can't marry, not now," Claude said. "It—it wouldn't be fair on them. I would make a horrible husband right now, and that's not right."

His mother studied him. "You're right," she acknowledged. "You are in no position to marry. But still…" She cast a helpless glance at her husband.

"I won't be able to keep the throne for too much longer," Saheem said bluntly. "My body fails me, and the generals grow restless."

Claude cleared his throat, forcing himself to look his father in the eye even as he knew he would disappoint a man he very much respected. "I know. But I can't walk away from Fódlan. Not now, and likely not for a long time. It's like a newborn, frail and easily hurt."

Tiana raised an eyebrow. "That's not a great way to describe the land you rule."

He winced. She did have a point. "I have responsibilities there. Leaving now would do far more damage to them than it would do good here in Almyra."

Saheem frowned at him, but didn't argue further. Claude was grateful. He didn't know what else he could say. He was caught between both lands, and no matter what he chose, one of them would have to suffer for it.

If only Byleth… No. Better not to go there. What had happened was done, there was no use wishing otherwise.

"I'll think of something," he finally said. "I always do."

He only hoped that it wouldn't turn out to be a lie.

* * *

_Outside Enbarr, Verdant Rain Moon, Year 1186_

Byleth stood at the edge of the camp, just outside the light of the fire. She wasn't visible to anyone in the camp, which was how she preferred it. As much as she loved her lions, they weren't the ones whose company she wanted that night.

The meeting with Edelgard earlier had gone… it had gone about as Byleth had expected. Seeing Dimitri offer his hand to someone whose head he had raved about collecting so many times only showcased how far he had come. She was so proud of him that she could almost burst from it.

It was a pity that it still wasn't enough to change Edelgard's mind. The woman was as stubborn as they came, yet _stubborn_ wasn't the right word for it. The war was a calling for Edelgard, and it was a fact of her life that it was necessary. Not even imminent defeat was enough for her to change her path.

And a defeat for Edelgard it would be. Byleth was certain of that, as certain as she was of anything. She had fought the Battle of Enbarr before, with much the same players, though it had been earlier in the year. They had won then. They would win now.

That only left the question of what would come after. Byleth wasn't worried about Dimitri, not any more. He had found his own strength, one that was not dependent on Byleth or anyone else. He lived for himself, and for the vision of a peaceful future that the dead no longer obscured.

Not to mention, Byleth had seen the way that Dimitri and Marianne looked at each other when they thought no one else was paying attention. That development had surprised Byleth, at first. She distinctly remembered planning for her and Lorenz's wedding last time around. But then again, Marianne had not become a Blue Lion last time either.

No, Dimitri would be fine. Marianne would steady him, and his Blue Lions would back him. He would lead Fódlan into a new age, one of peace.

Would Byleth be there to see it? She wasn't sure. They hadn't faced Nemesis this time around. In fact, Those Who Slither In The Dark had barely shown their faces. Thales had already fallen in Derdriu, still in his guise as Lord Arundel. The beams of light that had destroyed Merceus had never fallen.

Did that make this the last battle of the war? Or would the Blue Lions find themselves invading Shambhala after all, as once Byleth and Claude had done?

 _Claude_.

Byleth stepped even further back, making sure that no one could see her in the darkness. Her eyes stung. She didn't want anyone to see the expression she knew was on her face at that moment.

Seeing him in Derdriu had been a dagger to the heart, a wound that still bled. He looked much the same as she knew in the future-that-wasn't, right down to the outfit. But this Claude… he was different from hers in all the way that mattered.

For a start, he didn't look at her the way that her Claude had.

It was unfair to compare the two men. Byleth knew that. They had led different lives, and this Claude had not had the luxury of her fighting at his side. He had instead remained in the Alliance, fighting to keep the Empire at bay instead of striking back. And now he was leaving, handing Fódlan over to Dimitri and walking away.

If he were any other man, one might have called him a coward for the act. Yet Byleth _knew_ Claude, knew how hard a decision that would have been. He had acknowledged that his dream could not happen with him there, and walked away so that someone else might bring it to fruition in his stead. It wouldn't be his dream, not quite, but it was close enough.

He had never told her about his Almyran heritage, though Byleth had guessed long ago. He would be returning to the home he grew up in, where he would forge a new path for himself. Byleth wished him well on that path. She hoped that he would find the fulfilment he never managed in Fódlan.

She closed her eyes, trying to centre herself back in the present. She had a war to win, after all. Instead, Claude's face burned itself into the back of her eyelids. All she could see was the look on his face as he expressed his wish that she had chosen him, all those years ago. It was a mix of grief and regret, mourning his lost dream as much as his lost chance. But what had really hit home was the self-loathing she could see flicker in his eyes.

Claude blamed himself for not being good enough for her to choose him. It had nearly made her cry then, even in the middle of the harbour. It still made her eyes water now.

She couldn't tell him that she _had_ chosen him, the first time around. That she couldn't bear to choose him again, knowing the loss that she would put them both through, knowing that he wouldn't have the same memories that she did. And Dimitri… she knew that the man she remembered would never blame her for trying to save him. For all that Claude buried himself behind walls to protect himself, he had a huge heart, capable of understanding even his enemies.

But she _had_ chosen Dimitri this time. There was no going around that, no taking it back. Byleth had chosen the Blue Lions, and she would follow that path now until the bitter end. There was no room for regret. And after tonight, she would have to put aside her own grief and see the job done.

She still had a war to win.


	3. Silver Snow

_Derdriu, Verdant Moon, Year 1189_

"You've got to be more careful, Claude."

Claude hissed as Lorenz loosened the buckles of his shoulder piece. He sat backward on a chair, arms wrapped around the back of it as Lorenz tended to him. He dropped his head to rest his chin on the edge of the chair, closing his eyes against the pain.

A few more straps, and the shoulder piece lifted off him. Blood flowed freely underneath it, staining his coat deep red. Claude listened to Lorenz's mumbled swear words as the man fumbled for a bandage. Despite the pain, his lips quirked up. Even Lorenz couldn't always be the perfect nobleman.

It was a pity that Claude's crest hadn't activated and healed it for him. By the time he realised that someone had slipped a knife in his shoulder, Ignatz had already taken the would-be kingkiller out. Everyone always underestimated how fast the artist could move. They all forgot about his Assassin certification from the war.

Instead, Claude was left bleeding from a non-fatal wound, his attacker's body cooling on the floor and making a mess of the rugs. Before Claude could recover from the shock at how close the assassin had gotten, Lorenz had immediately charged Ignatz with dealing with the aftermath while he dragged Claude away to tend him.

"This is my palace," Claude ground out from behind gritted teeth. "How much more careful do you expect me to be?"

Lorenz stopped trying to tackle Claude's coat. He stepped around the chair to stand in front of Claude, arms crossed in front of his chest. His glare was truly ferocious, but Claude was in too much pain to be intimidated.

"Relax already and get back to dealing with the wound," Claude said, looking up at him. "I'm still here, aren't I? They failed. Nothing else to it beyond dealing with whoever paid him to kill me."

Except Lorenz _didn't_ relax. If anything, his glare only got worse. "You are the _king_ , Claude. Your life is too important to treat so lightly."

Claude sighed. "I'm not treating it lightly. I've dealt with assassination attempts my whole life. People are always going to want me dead. Nothing's changed, not even becoming King."

Finally, Lorenz dropped the angry look, in favour of a more thoughtful one. His arms uncrossed, one hand reaching out to touch his chin in a gesture of contemplation. "You're used to this," he said with the air of one thinking out loud. "The assassination attempts… they started long before you came to the Reigan household, didn't they?"

Damn Lorenz for occasionally being observant. There was a lot that Claude hadn't told his friends, even after all those years. He didn't let anyone that deep into his walls, not even them. But slowly but surely, they were still figuring it out for themselves from the clues that Claude let slip.

No point denying it now. "You know me. Are you that surprised I managed to piss people off that much even as a child?" Claude shuffled in the seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. It only sent bolts of agony down his back. His fingers clenched on the chair. "Now, are you going to help here or do I have to send for a real healer?"

Lorenz gave him an icy look, but obediently went back to his original position and started tackling his coat again. Claude shut his eyes again, trusting Lorenz to look after him in his moment of weakness.

"My point still stands, you know," Lorenz said after a few minutes of silence. "You are unmarried and have no heirs. If you fall… I don't want to think about what would happen to Fódlan."

"You'd muddle through somehow," Claude responded without opening his eyes. "We're not as bad off as we used to—" He cut off mid-sentence as Lorenz lifted the coat from his back, taking some of his skin with it.

He breathed through the pain, trembling and cursing under his breath. The chair creaked alarmingly beneath his crushing embrace. Lorenz made quick work of what remained of his coat and shirt, cutting them off him rather than trying to get Claude to raise his arms. They fell in a bloody pile on the floor.

Claude forced himself to open his eyes, but only managed slits. The bright white light of healing magic glowed in the corner of his eye. His back grew numb, the pain fading. The wound wasn't healed, far from it, but it would keep until a proper healer was able to take a look at it.

"That's better," he said, relaxing into the chair. The adrenaline had well and truly worn off, leaving Claude feeling heavy and sleepy. "I can sleep here, right?"

Lorenz didn't answer him. The man was unusually silent, to the point where Claude wasn't sure he was even still there. Claude lifted his head, trying to twist to see behind him without moving his back at all.

Then a hand touched the chain around his neck. "What's this?"

Oh. _That_. Lorenz wouldn't have seen it before. It was usually hidden by all his layers of clothing.

"That's not important," he said, trying to deflect. "What, don't you wear jewellery? Marianne will be devastated to know you're not wearing your wedding ring."

Lorenz tapped his uninjured shoulder. "Claude," he said sharply. "Answer the question."

Claude wasn't sure whether Lorenz's willingness to ignore propriety was a good or a bad thing. He was grateful beyond measure that his friends could see past his title, but on the other hand, it made them think they could still boss him around when it pleased them.

"Don't make me say it." Time had dulled the heartache, but it hadn't gone away entirely. At the reminder, it flared anew.

Lorenz lifted the chain around Claude's neck, fingers following it around to his front. Claude sighed and leaned back, giving Lorenz room to move. He was too tired and sore to try picking a fight with the other man to distract him. And there was a part of him that was… grateful, in a way, for Lorenz to find out.

The man held the ring dangling on the chain up to the light. The emeralds sparkled. It was very obvious that it wasn't a ring made for a man.

"You've been wearing this all this time." Claude looked away, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. It was his way of keeping her close, when he had lost the rest of her. It never came off.

Lorenz exhaled, letting the ring fall to rest against Claude's bare chest. "No wonder you never took a wife. You still love her, don't you?"

"How could I not?" Claude mumbled, unable to look Lorenz in the eye. "She made me everything that I am today."

The other man couldn't deny that. After all, she had also had an impact on him, teaching him to look beneath the surface and find value in everyone, regardless of birth.

Lorenz rested a hand on Claude's shoulder. "You will need to marry one day, Claude. Fódlan needs an heir."

He leaned into the touch. "I know. But I'm not ready. Not yet."

"When will you be?" Lorenz asked, studying his face. " _Will_ you ever be?"

Claude swallowed. The thought of taking the chain off left him feeling queasy. Or was it the wound? Both, possibly. "I don't know."

For five long years, he'd held out hope that Byleth would come back, even when the whole world told him he was being foolish. She'd proven him right, returning at the perfect moment with a touch of destiny.

It wasn't the same now. She wasn't coming back. But he couldn't bring himself to let her go.

"Maybe one day," he said. "But not now."

* * *

_Garreg Mach, Red Wolf Moon Moon, Year 1180_

The full moon shone water, reflected on the surface. Byleth watched it from her seat at the edge of the docks. Her boots sat behind her, and her feet dangled over the edge. With each ripple, the water just touched the tips of her toes.

The monastery was as silent as it could get. A dog was barking in the distance. There was the flapping of wings from the wyvern and pegasi riders that patrolled the night sky. It was late enough that the kitchens were beginning the days' work, the bakers beginning the bread.

But there at the docks, Byleth was left alone with her thoughts. Just herself, and the water, and the moon.

Earlier that night, Byleth had spoken to Edelgard, who could not sleep. The girl had opened up for the first time in all of Byleth's lives, telling her about her second crest. She was learning more and more about the girl's history, about what drove her. She had despised Those Who Slither In The Dark since her first encounter with them. Everything she had learned since only served to solidify that hatred.

To experiment on children like that… Byleth shuddered at the memory of Edelgard's eyes as she explained what had happened to them. She suspected that the only reason Edelgard had escaped it so long was due to her time in the Kingdom. Which made Byleth wonder—was it Thales that took her there, or the original Lord Arundel?

She had never found out what had happened to those who had been replaced. She still wasn't sure if those people had in fact been Slitherers all along, biding their time. Byleth didn't know which was worse, that there were real people who had their lives taken over, or that the Slitherers were capable of good deeds in the name of their disguises.

But back to Edelgard's story. Byleth wondered why it had never clicked before now. Dimitri had told her about how Edelgard used to have different coloured hair when they first met, and she had known about Lysithea's affliction. Yet she had never put the two together in her mind.

Knowing about Lysithea made understanding Edelgard so much easier. Lysithea was constantly chafing about how much she wanted to achieve in the little time allocated to her. Edelgard was much the same, driven by the knowledge that she too wouldn't live long. If Edelgard wanted the world to change, then she had to accomplish it young.

She had chosen Edelgard and the Black Eagles this time, hoping to understand. Hoping to avert this war before it even began, by turning Edelgard aside from her fell purpose. In their times, Claude and Dimitri had relied on her, and had trusted her to guide them. Byleth had hoped that over time, Edelgard would learn the same trust.

Now… she worried. Edelgard was determined to walk her path. Everything that had happened to her only made her more relentless in her drive. Byleth knew that she was an influence on the girl, but would it be enough to turn her aside?

Byleth scrubbed at her face. She hated doubting herself like this. As a mercenary, tactician and general, Byleth had no room for doubting her decisions. There was only ever surviving long enough to move on to the next field of battle, making do with the circumstances one had been dealt. Not even the power to turn back time made her second-guess itself. It was simply another tool at her disposal for gathering information.

But Byleth was tired. She had lived the same years twice over now, and was on her third time round. No matter what she tried to change, so much remained the same. The same events, the same battles, just fought at slightly different times on different sides.

She couldn't even prevent her own fall. Last time, she had thought to survive the Battle of Garreg Mach. To go with the Lions, protect Faerghus and the Alliance. Somehow stop the war in its tracks. But she had still been blasted by Thales, still fallen down the cliff.

Still woken in the river, nearly five years later. And still faded to dust, once the war was over, only to wake up at the beginning all over again.

This time would be different, Byleth promised herself. Somehow, she would stop Edelgard going down the same path. She would stop the war, stop the Slitherers, just… stop.

She would give nearly anything to make it all stop.

Byleth clung to the idea that if she prevented the war, she wouldn't turn to dust again. She couldn't face the thought that she was doomed to relive the same events over and over again. To see the same people, who she knew so well, look at her like a stranger.

She never told anyone what was happening to her. What was the point? Byleth might as well scream it into the darkness, for all they would listen. It would not change Claude's ambition, Dimitri's demons, or Edelgard's purpose. No, she could only work on those individually, never letting on what she really knew.

Byleth flopped onto her back, her head resting on the damp boards. The stars glittered above her. _Fell Star_ , Solon had called her. And Sothis was said to have originally come from the stars, though she did not remember it. Byleth was bound to the stars, but they had never seemed so far away.

What did Claude see, when he looked at the stars? He always told her that they made him feel so small, but that it meant that his dream was also achievable.

Maybe it would work for her too.

"I'll fix this," Byleth said to the stars. "That's my dream."

The stars said nothing back. And as was usual since the first time Byleth had lived, neither did Sothis.

A wave of loneliness swept through her. Her hands clenched into fists beside her. Her lips trembled, but her eyes remained dry.

"I'll fix this," she whispered again. "Somehow."

* * *

_Derdriu, Lone Moon, Year 1191_

Claude stared at the crumpled letter in his hands. He forced himself to relax his grip, setting the paper back on his desk and smoothing it out. The Almyran seal blinked back up at him.

He looked up at the courier, who still waited patiently in front of his desk. "That will be all," Claude told her. "You may go." The woman bowed to him and left the room with a murmured _your majesty_. As soon as he was gone, Claude slumped back in his chair with a deep sigh.

He'd known this day was coming for a long time. In a way, it was surprising that it had taken so long to arrive. He'd almost started to think that it never would, despite planning for how he would handle both roles.

That didn't make it any easier to bear now that it was there.

He sighed again, taking a moment to feel the weight of the new burden falling on his shoulders. The responsibility that he carried threatened to crush him. Sometimes, when he was alone, it left him gasping for air and clutching for something to keep him steady.

He never told anyone about those times. They wouldn't be able to help him. They couldn't become King in his stead. But he valued their steady support more than anything.

Speaking of his friends… Claude glanced back at the letter, heart sinking. He needed to tell them. Luckily, all the Alliance-based Deer were in Derdriu outside of the Festival for once. At least he would only have to announce this the one time to them. He truly was a coward—ten years he had known them, and he had still not told them about the other side of his heritage.

Better to get it over with. He didn't think he could face their rejection more than once.

_They won't reject you, Claude_ , a voice at the back of his mind whispered. _Her_ voice. A bitter smile crossed his lips. How would she know? He had never told her either. He had promised himself that he would, once the war was over. Instead, he was grasping at the air as she faded away in his arms. Revelations about his birth had taken a back step to making sure she knew how much he loved her before it was too late.

Claude adjusted his collar, not that it needed it. The familiar motion was enough to ground him in the present again. He paused, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, pasting his normal smile on his face. He could do this. He _had_ to do this.

The journey to the dining hall the Deer had taken over felt simultaneously an eternity, and over in the blink of an eye. Before he could comprehend the dichotomy, Claude was standing at the door with his hand resting on the knob. He could hear them, even through the thick wood. They sounded like they were having fun in there, enjoying their impromptu reunion.

He paused for a moment, leaning his forehead on the door. He hated to burst their bubble of happiness. They saw each other in one place so rarely these days. The only day that they had guaranteed was the day of the Festival. But once a year wasn't much to see the people that Claude used to spend every day with at the monastery.

Claude took a deep breath, lifted his head and opened the door. He strode inside like he owned the room—which, as both King of Fódlan and Duke Reigan, he technically did.

"Good to see you all outside of the Festival," he called out as he drew nearer the table. "I could hear you from at least two corridors away."

"You're exaggerating," Leonie said around a mouthful of chicken. "Not to mention, you're late."

"Hard at work as always, leader man?" Hilda said, batting her eyes at him. Claude rolled his eyes at her, taking the empty seat at the table. There was no head of the table, not here, not with them.

"Not quite. Got some correspondence that couldn't wait." He stared down at his empty plate, making no move to fill it.

"Surely it can wait an hour or two," Ignatz said. He was gripping Hilda's spare hand above the table in a rare show of affection. "We don't see each other often enough as it is."

"You shouldn't work so hard," Hilda added, sickly sweet. Though her tone was light, there was a glint to her eyes that told Claude that she meant it. He tried to smile at the tag-teaming between the couple, but it came out as more of a grimace. Damn it, he used to be better at faking enthusiasm than this.

Unfortunately, Hilda caught it immediately. "What's wrong, Claude?" she asked, dropping the fake sweet tone. The table fell silent at once, all the Golden Deer turning to him.

Lysithea frowned. "Who was the news from?"

Claude stared at the middle of the table, avoiding their gazes. "My parents. I need to go home for a while. Soon."

"Are your parents well?" Ignatz asked, worry creeping into his tone. Claude noticed the sideways glance that he gave Raphael, a hint of the old guilt over the fate of the man's parents ever present.

He had promised himself that he would be honest with them, this time. "Not really," Claude admitted. The words tasted like sawdust in his mouth. "My father… he's not been well for years. But he's held on as best as he can, until now."

Raphael's fist hit the table, making all their plates jump. "He's not dying, is he? Claude, what are you still doing here?"

"What? No! He's not dying!" _He better not be,_ Claude added mentally as his words mollified the panicked Deer. They settled back into their seats, one non-crisis averted.

Then he gripped his knee under the table to hide how much his hands were trembling. "But he can't rule. Not any more."

The Deer went still once again, staring at him.

"What do you mean, _rule_?" Leonie asked eventually. "Didn't your mother abdicate her position in House Reigan?"

He shook his head, unable to meet her in the eye. "She left House Reigan, yes. But my father's rule has never been dependent on the Houses."

Lysithea harrumphed, crossing her arms and leaning forward. "Stop obfuscating, Claude! What's going on?"

Claude was glad that Cyril was still at the Monastery. The boy—now a man—was the only person so far to have a clue as to Claude's heritage. But not even the young Almyran realised just _who_ Claude's relatives were.

He couldn't hide it any longer.

"My father is abdicating his rule of Alymra. He's handing his crown over to me."

Silence greeted him. The Deer shifted in their seats, looking at one another. Claude deliberately kept his head down, eyes focused on his plate, still empty.

Finally, Hilda snorted. "Nice one, Claude. Try pulling the other leg next time. Almyran, _honestly_."

Her words broke the hold that silence had on the table. The other Deer visibly relaxed in their seats, started to eat again in between conversations. Claude just sat there. Did they really think that he was joking? That it was just a prank?

_They don't know me_ , Claude thought to himself, throat tightening. _They don't know me at all_. There was a roaring in his ears, drowning out the conversations happening around him.

He set his fork down. He felt queasy; there was no point trying to eat. He would pack something light to bring with him on the journey east. Claude would need to keep up his strength. It was a long journey back home.

He stood without a word. Claude hoped to slip away without notice, go make the arrangements for his departure. He would be gone a long time, and there was much to do.

Before he could go more than a step away from the table, Hilda's fingers curled around his wrist. Claude looked down at her, reaching for a reassuring smile and unable to produce one.

"Now where do you think you're going, Leader Man?" she asked, quirking her brows at him. "This is a _feast_ , in case you haven't noticed. You didn't eat anything."

Claude tugged at his arm experimentally. It didn't budge an inch. Hilda was far stronger than she appeared, and she had a solid grip on him.

"There's too much to do. I'll eat later." He could barely hear himself over the thumping of his heart in his ears.

She sighed. "You work too hard. Come on, this will be good for you." She tugged at him, trying to make him sit down, but he planted his feet and would not be moved.

"That's _enough_ , Hilda," he said. He knew his voice was too sharp. "Let me go."

She jerked away as if burned, stung by his ferocity. It was enough to get the attention of the Deer again. This time, the silence was so heavy that Claude was tempted to get out his knife to cut through it.

For the first time that night, Claude raised his eyes and met theirs properly. "You really don't know me, do you?" The words tasted bitter on his tongue. He couldn't hold their gazes long, wrenching his own away. "All these years, and you don't see me." His fingers clenched at the hem of his coat.

"Because it's ridiculous," said Hilda, fit to burst. "You're—well, you're _you_."

His smile revealed too many teeth to be real. "Yes, I am," he agreed. His voice was soft, vicious. He wanted to lash out at them, to ease the hurt that bubbled inside. They'd broken open an old wound that had been there ever since his childhood, one that had never truly healed. "Both Duke Claude von Reigan of the Leicester Alliance, and the half-breed Prince of Almyra Khalid el Saheem. Neither of one world or the other."

Hilda shook her head, denial written all over her expression. "You can't be," she said. For once, it truly struck Claude that she was a Goneril. Few people hated the Almyrans as much as they did, even with the strides that Holst had made to bring peace to the border.

Claude laughed. "Look at me, Hilda. _Really_ look, and tell me that I'm not." Something inside him broke when she stayed quiet. It shattered further when all the other Deer avoided his heated gaze as he sought to meet their eyes, one by one.

He had dreamed of a land where one's dual heritage didn't matter. Where no other child would grow up, knowing that they didn't belong anywhere. The dream had never felt more distant as at that moment.

There he was, ruler of one land. About to become ruler of a second. And nothing had changed. Would it ever? He had been striving for this dream his whole life. He was beginning to believe that it would never happen, that all his efforts were futile.

Claude drew in a deep, shuddering breath. _Control. You need to control yourself_. _Weakness will only get you a knife in the back_. "I need to pack," he said to no one in particular. "I'll see you all at the Festival." _If they even come_.

When he went to leave that time, no one tried to stop him. No one said a word as he shut the door behind him. No one followed him as he broke into a run, desperate to retreat to the safety of his quarters before his mask fell apart.

He was a fool to let his guard down around people he thought he could trust. He wouldn't be so foolish as to do so a second time.

* * *

_Garreg Mach, Harpstring Moon, Year 1186_

She wandered the gardens of the monastery, her mind fixated on the previous night's encounter. Or was it a dream? It was growing difficult for Byleth to tell the difference between dreams, past lives, and reality. They all blurred together in her mind.

It didn't change the fact that Dimitri was dead, as likely was Claude. She wanted to cry. Instead, she walked in circles around the hedges, eyes painfully dry.

It was her third life, and what difference had she made? With every move Byleth took, everything only ever got worse. She'd failed to win Edelgard's trust, and failed to convince her to step aside. Failed to save the other leaders when the war began. Just _failed_ , in every way.

By the end of this life, all three house leaders would be dead. And what would Byleth have to show for it? Nothing but a war-torn land with no leader, just a memory that turned to dust.

She'd watched her students die again and again, in so many different ways. Using the Divine Pulse was both easier and harder than it had ever been. Byleth's strength grew, but every death battered her still heart further, leaving her hollow inside.

Byleth was losing hope that she would be able to fix anything. Everything she touched turned to ruin. She had even stopped gardening in the greenhouse, for fear that the plants would wither at her touch.

"Professor?" It sounded like Ferdinand calling her name. Byleth stiffened, then ducked into an alcove. She wasn't ready to be found. Though she knew she needed to be involved in the war council to take Merceus, she wasn't ready to face anyone just yet.

Besides, it wasn't as if she needed time to come up with a strategy with them. She already had a perfectly good one from two lifetimes ago to use, involving stealth and stolen uniforms. He wouldn't begrudge her it.

She waited in the shadows as Ferdinand walked right past her. There was a furrow to his brow, and a heaviness to his footsteps. She wondered what weighed on him so heavily that day. At any other point in time, Byleth would be first in line to provide him with guidance and a shoulder to lean on. But not then. Not when _she_ was the one that desperately wanted someone to help her.

The only person she would have accepted it from wasn't there. Was never there. Had never truly existed in that timeline, and had died too young anyway. Or maybe he had fled to Almyra, to the homeland that he had never actually told her about? Not that Byleth hadn't known. Unlike most of the people at the monastery, Byleth had actually met Almyrans before, and Claude's braid had been a dead giveaway.

It didn't matter. If he were alive, he wouldn't resurface until well after the war had finished. And by then, Byleth would have once again turned to dust.

She was alone. Surrounded by people that cared for her, but still very much alone.

She only wished she understood _why_.

The bits and pieces of the bigger picture still didn't fit together in Byleth's mind. Even then, after three lives, it remained elusive. There was more that Rhea hadn't told her, Byleth was sure of it. More to Those Who Slither In The Dark than she had discovered.

Would the repeated lives end once Byleth finally figured it out? Maybe that was the key. Not preventing the war, but _understanding_ why it had to happen in the first place.

Byleth ran a hand across her face. She'd already failed in that life. She had let Edelgard slip through her fingers, so focused on preventing the war that she didn't listen well enough to the _why_. Next time, she wouldn't make the same mistake. She would support Edelgard fully and utterly, no matter how it ended.

Doing so felt like a betrayal of the highest measure. Byleth couldn't bring herself to believe that Edelgard's course of action was right. It would compromise every scrap of integrity that she still had left.

But what was integrity to a dead woman? To the vessel of a goddess?

She wished she could hear Sothis still. Wished that the tiny goddess was still around to guide her. Byleth would even take her complaining and her chastisements, if it meant that she wasn't alone in her head.

First, she had to see this life out to the end. It wasn't over yet, and there was still time for Byleth to learn more. The Church was revealing more and more of its inner workings to her, since she had no other obvious loyalties. In time, Byleth would truly understand the organisation that had shaped Fódlan for the past millennium.

The more she learned, the less she liked it. But that didn't make it worth declaring war on everything to destroy. For all its faults, there was still good there, and the right hand at the helm would be able to steer it to a brighter future for everyone.

Would Seteth be the right person for the job? Byleth hoped as much. For all that he worked beside her, her closest ally in the war, there was a suspicion in his eyes that never truly went away. He knew something was wrong with her. Though he did not push to find it out, he also never treated her as family, as he had once done.

He was a man of strong ideals, and deep loyalty to those he cared for. Byleth knew that he would not be able to forgive her for what she was going to do the next time round.

Byleth sighed, moving further back into the shadows. She would have to face them, face the truth of everything, including her own existence.

But not yet. First, she needed to grieve the lives that she could not save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude has always struck me as the type to keep his cards close to his chest—very close. Without Byleth around to confide in and teach him to trust, it's easy to believe that he would hide something like his Almyran family until he had no other option. Byleth, on the other hand, gives her affection and trust too easily. There's only so long someone can continue pouring out their soul to help others before it starts to break them.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed so far, and you all know which route is coming next. The promised happy ending is still some time away, and there's plenty of opportunity to put the characters through hell first.


	4. Crimson Flower

_Fódlan's Throat, Ethereal Moon, Year 1191_

Claude dismounted his wyvern in the field next to the fortress' stables, glancing up and over his shoulder. Good. His escort hadn't caught up to him yet. That gave him a few minutes to himself, maybe even hours, before they arrived to yell at him for racing off without them.

He rolled his shoulders, reaching one hand up to scratch his wyvern's scaly neck. The brute preened at the attention, leaning in and wrapping around Claude. It startled a laugh out of him, and Claude buried his face in his wyvern's neck in return.

Moments like that were few and far between since Claude had taken on a second kingdom. He had known that the weight of the responsibility would be heavy, but he hadn't expected it to be so crushing.

He hadn't found any grey hairs yet. He was not yet thirty, and shouldn't be expecting them. But Claude was sure that the day would arrive sooner rather than later, brought on by the stress of his position.

Claude hadn't expected it to be that hard. But there was no one else to do it, so he would shoulder the load as best as he could. By himself, since his Deer didn't seem inclined to forgive him for existing yet.

He huffed a breath at the thought of them, stomach sinking. It was three days until the Festival. He would be cutting it fine, but he would reach Derdriu just beforehand. But would they come? Or would he be waiting in an empty palace?

A year ago, Claude would have had no doubts. But a year ago, they didn't know that he was part Almyran. It had never been the same since.

Oh, he'd talked to some of them. Couldn't not, given their respective positions. But Lorenz's carefully rehearsed politeness cut as sharply as any knife, as did Hilda's sickly-sweet smiles. The others… well, they had no real excuse other than their friends to be in Derdriu. The fact that they hadn't come back since spoke for itself.

"Maybe we should go flying," he mumbled into his wyvern's neck. "See how high we can get. Maybe visit one of the islands." The wyvern snorted, not understanding his master's words, just pleased to hear the sound of his voice.

Claude's mouth quirked. It was the closest to a real smile he could manage, even hidden from the world. His mother had commented on it before he left, tried to call him out on it, but her priority had to be her ailing husband. She couldn't stop him from leaving when duty called, couldn't force him to stay and face her.

"Your majesty!"

 _Busted_.

Claude stepped away from his wyvern, his normal grin already pasted on. The Goneril stablehands hurried across the field towards him. Claude watched them approach without moving, keeping one hand on his wyvern's neck.

"I can look after him myself, you know," he said with a bright laugh. "You don't need to run." It was an argument he'd had with them before, several times. It was also one he had yet to win.

"It isn't right, your majesty," one of the braver stablehands piped up. "We'll look after him for you. He'll get the best of care."

Claude sighed and moved aside, letting them swarm his wyvern. The beast soaked up the attention, paying no attention to Claude. His smile froze, and he turned to leave before it could disappear entirely.

He knew it was foolish of him to be jealous of a wyvern's attention. He mused on it as he made his way up the fortress steps. But when everyone and everything else turned away from him, Claude only clung tighter to what he had left, even if it were the scraps of a wyvern's care.

Stars, he was miserable. Claude was even able to acknowledge it to himself. Moping over his wyvern— _honestly_. He needed human companionship. He would give anything to have someone who wanted to talk to _Claude_ , not the King of Fódlan and Almyra.

He'd even take the assassins at that point. They'd become more common as his second crown was announced, on both sides of the border. Claude now knew better than to eat food he hadn't watched be prepared. He had built up an immunity to most poisons over the years, but the week spent doubled over a basin a few months previously had ensured he would be more careful.

Claude hadn't expected the resistance he had met as he tried to unite the two countries. It had surpassed his worst hopes. Instead of becoming friendly, both countries now looked upon him with fear and distrust. It had only taken a few short years for them to stop considering him the King of Unification, and to start thinking of him as a threat.

He slipped into the hall, keeping to the walls. Since he travelled so often between Fódlan and Almyra, Holst had put aside a room in the fortress exclusively for his use. If he were lucky, he would reach it before anyone other than the stablehands realised he was there, gaining himself a few precious hours of time to himself.

"Your majesty!" Holst's voice echoed through the hall. Claude twitched as he turned to face Holst Goneril, hurrying towards him. On days like this, he wondered if anyone actually remembered that he had a name. Two of them, in fact.

"Holst," he said evenly as the man approached him, drawing to a halt an arm's length away. Habit had him seizing the man up for weapons, noting the axe on his back and the knife in his boot.

The man shifted from one foot to another. He didn't have any of his sister's grace, or her composure. Something was bothering him, and it was plain for all to see.

"You're early," Holst commented. "You're not supposed to arrive for a few more hours."

Claude glanced out the nearest window, noting the sun still high in the sky. "I made good time. It's good winds out there."

Everyone always forgot that he was a Barbarossa. Claude was _made_ for the sky, every bit as home there as the ground. And when he had felt a wind that would carry him all the way to the Throat, he had not hesitated to take it, even knowing that his escort would not follow so easily.

It didn't matter. Claude and his wyvern could defend themselves in the air. Even if there were people waiting to ambush him, he could easily outfly them. If they were foolish enough to go after him when he carried Failnaught on a wyvern's back, then they were dead fools.

"I'll be in my room," Claude said after a long pause, giving up on Holst saying anything else. "Dinner is at the usual time, of course?" He didn't wait for Holst to respond, stepping past him and walking away before he could say another word.

Claude let the smile slip as he walked the halls to his room. It was a relief, not having to pretend. There was a pressure in his head that signaled the beginning of a headache. With luck, a bath to wash away the dust of the road and a few hours' nap would be enough to stave it off.

But as he grew closer, he could hear voices coming from the direction of the guest rooms. Did Holst have other guests? Maybe he should have given the man more of a chance to say something instead of brushing past him.

As he grew closer, they became more distinct—and more familiar.

"Come _on,_ you need to turn it around! It's never going to fit through the door that way!" _Hilda_. Of course she would be here. It was her childhood home, after all.

"If you're so knowledgeable about this, why aren't you helping?" _…isn't that Lorenz?_ That made less sense. He had no real reason to be there.

"I'm carrying the plates! Isn't that more than enough?"

"Will you two shut up and just carry this already!" Leonie sounded ready to strangle them both.

Claude rounded the corner and froze.

There was Lorenz and Leonie, trying to fit an enormous table through a door too small for it. There was Hilda, holding a pile of plates on one arm while she gestured madly with the other. Beyond them, he could see Lysithea and Cyril fussing around with chairs, and hear Raphael's booming laugh almost overpowering Ignatz's quieter one. If he squinted, he could just make out the edge of Marianne's dress through the door.

Leonie noticed him first. She dropped the table with a crash. That made Lorenz bend almost in two to prevent dropping his side. Hilda spun around, eyes widening and her mouth forming a perfect _o_ shape.

They stared at each other. Then Claude broke the silence, shoulders tensing and drawing in on themselves. "What are you doing here?"

Hilda's mouth worked. For once, her charm had abandoned her as no sound came out.

After a moment, Raphael popped his head around the doorframe. "To see you, of course!"

Claude blinked. He scrubbed at his eyes, then looked again. They were still there. Ignatz had appeared next to Raphael, nodding vigorously.

He cleared his throat. "That's not an answer." Hope was igniting within him. He did his best to squash it, lest it destroy him.

They paused instead of answering him. Ignatz looked at the ground, shuffling his feet and messing with his glasses.

"The festival's not for two days," Claude added. His voice sounded too light in the suddenly tense atmosphere. "And this is hardly Derdriu."

"We thought you wouldn't come," Leonie burst out. "So we came here instead."

"Holst sent word that you were passing through," Hilda said. When Claude looked at her, her eyes were big and misty, though no tears escaped. If they did, Claude suspected they would be real ones for once, instead of the fake crying performance she usually put on to get her way. "So here we are."

Hope spiralled inside Claude, wrapping around his heart. He struggled to keep his voice even. "I was under the impression that you weren't going to be coming this time." _I thought you hated me_ , went unsaid but not unheard.

Then his arms were full of pink, and a strong grip twined around his waist. "I'm sorry," she mumbled into his chest. Moisture collected at the front of his coat. "It's all my fault."

"Our fault." Claude looked up from Hilda to see Lorenz with his hand in front of his heart. He bowed deep, a show of respect that Claude never expected to see in his direction. He was too used to Lorenz's constant back-and-forth, the man treating him as an equal at best, as someone in need of guidance most of the time.

"We let our misguided prejudices blind us to the man we know you are, and we let you down when you needed us. It was an unforgivable offence."

Claude shook his head, his heart a lump in his throat, blocking his voice. He stared at all his Deer, searching their expressions one by one. Every last one of them looked contrite, and determined. Their affection for him was written all over their faces.

He cleared his throat. "I…" For once, Claude was utterly speechless. Hope had been too dangerous for him to trust. He was so used to reaching out for other people, seeking connections, only to have them spit in his face.

"I missed you." It wasn't what Claude was planning on saying. His voice broke with the weight of it. He was letting his guard down again, hoping against reason that they wouldn't use it against him.

"Claude," Hilda said, letting go of him and setting back, tilting her head up to look him in the eye. "No… _Khalid_."

Her pronunciation was a little off, but it was close enough. "Claude's fine," he said with a wobbly laugh. "I've been going by it for nearly as long." And it was the name _she_ knew him by.

She frowned. "But which one do you prefer?"

Claude shrugged. "They're both me. I really don't mind."

Her eyes narrowed at him. Claude looked back at her, cocking an eyebrow. It became an impromptu staring contest, neither of them willing to give ground.

"Oh come _on_ ," Leonie said, throwing her arms around both their shoulders. "If he says Claude is fine, then it's fine. Come on, let's finish getting this set up! We're supposed to be celebrating!"

Claude let Leonie lead him away, let the Deer swarm him. He savoured their presence. It was the first time he felt truly _wanted_ since the last time he had seen them, when his father first abdicated the throne. It filled him with warmth, and he basked in it.

Fódlan and Almyra could wait a day. Today… today was for the Deer.

* * *

_Garreg Mach, Pegasus Moon, Year 1181_

"Will you join me?" Edelgard asked, her lavender eyes staring into Byleth's own.

Last time, she had made a different choice. She had chosen to stay in the monastery, after checking when Edelgard would be back. Was that when Edelgard had finally decided that Byleth was not to be trusted?

She didn't want to go. Byleth didn't want to be here again. But she had chosen the Black Eagles a second time—chosen _Edelgard_. She wouldn't turn back now.

"Of course, I'll go with you," Byleth said, smiling at Edelgard as best as she could, letting none of her true emotions show. It was a good thing that Byleth had a reputation for being expressionless. It meant that Edelgard didn't look too hard now, and didn't see Byleth's reluctance. "Let me go pack a bag, organise supplies for us. I'll meet you here in an hour."

Edelgard's own smile blossomed. It was a beautiful, if deadly thing. "Thank you, my teacher." The earnestness in her voice was a dagger beneath Byleth's skin.

The smile dropped the moment that Byleth was out of Edelgard's sight. Her mouth set itself to a thin line as she walked back to her room. She avoided the gazes of everyone she passed, not wanting to be caught up in conversation. Not when she felt as unsteady as this.

Once she reached the safety of her room, Byleth closed the door behind her and rested her forehead against it with a sigh. Her body felt heavy, like it could sink into the door and never emerge. She was so tired, lately, no matter how much sleep she got.

But then, it wasn't physical, was it? No, it was Byleth's very soul that ached with weariness. She had lived time and time again, knowing the same people, fighting the same war. Nothing changed, not really, except who was left alive at the end of it all.

She had seen them all die so many times that she had difficulty believing that they currently lived. Byleth was as haunted as Dimitri now, seeing the shadows of their death wounds every time she laid eyes on them.

It would be so easy to fall onto her bed and refuse to come out. Edelgard would likely leave without her if she did not come back, her mission too important for one stray teacher. No one else would bother her until class on Monday, especially with her father dead.

Forming connections with other people was difficult when all she could see was their deaths. She knew so much about them, but they knew so little about her. She tried to reach out to them. Byleth couldn't not try. But her success was always mixed. She always had a mix of people in her classes.

Except Sylvain. Every lifetime, he would join her class if he wasn't already in it. He was the one constant in all her lives.

Byleth sighed, closing her eyes and pressing further into the door. She didn't want to go to the city with Edelgard. She didn't want to live the same events that would come afterward. And she didn't want to face the choice that she had already made.

But she needed to understand.

Byleth was _so close_ to the answers she needed, answers that she could not get on the other side of this war. The truth was almost in her grasp, just out of reach. Soon, she would have the opportunity to gain Edelgard's trust, and to finally find out why.

What was it that drove the girl so hard that she could not turn aside, not even in the face of defeat? What secrets were buried in Edelgard's past that made her work with Those Who Slither In The Dark, despite the atrocities they committed? What was worth burning all of Fódlan?

Edelgard had secrets, ones that Byleth was determined to uncover. She still had the desperate hope that once she understood _why_ , the cycle of rebirth would end. If following Edelgard to the bitter end was what it would take… then Byleth would do so.

No matter how much her heart screamed at her. No matter that every step she took felt like a betrayal of everything she ever loved, of every moral value she ever held. Soon, it wouldn't be Edelgard looking at her with that face of betrayal. It would be everyone else.

And they would be right to mistrust and hate her for it.

A lone tear dripped down Byleth's cheek and into the door. She stepped back, scrubbing at her face with a rough movement. She had no time for a crisis of consciousness. The war waited for her. Edelgard waited for her. Together, they would burn Fódlan in the ashes of war until the truth was left bare for them to find.

Let the flames begin.

* * *

_Derdriu, Horsebow Moon, Year 1192_

Claude leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms out. His shoulders ached after so long hunched over his desk. He wasn't quite as young as he used to be, and on days like this—when the rain drummed on the rooftops and the wind howled outside—he felt all his old wounds.

Such was the life of a soldier. Claude had fought in so many battles over the years, more than someone his age should have seen. His body was covered in the scars from them. But he still had all his limbs, and none of his scars impeded him. They just ached when it rained.

Speaking of rain… Claude stood and padded over to the window, squinting at the sky as he tried to judge the time. He hadn't worked through dinner again, had he? It was hard to tell without the sun. The hours tended to disappear without a trace when he was in his study. They never made the piles of paperwork go away, at least.

His stomach growled at him. Claude made a rueful grin at the sound. He would take his chances that he had judged time correctly, if it meant that he could eat at least a little bit. He was hungry rarely enough to know not to ignore his body when it remembered food. And he was wrong, then the kitchen hands would help him scrounge a meal. They were used to his habits, after all.

Before he left, Claude looked down to the gardens. They were one of his favourite parts of the Reigan estate, large enough to get lost in. Unlike Garreg Mach's straight hedges, the Reigan gardens grew in more natural formations. It was a little like being in the woods, except with far more flowers.

Two figures in the garden caught his eye. He put one hand on the side of the window and leaned a little to see them better. They were too far away to see their faces, but they were servant's uniforms.

The man was tugging the woman by the hand, racing through the rain. Claude watched as they stopped by one of the ponds, the man twirling the woman in his arms before letting go and racing off again. Claude's face ached at the sight. It took a moment for him to realise that he was smiling.

Young love was a beautiful thing to behold. He envied them for it, just as he envied his friends for what they had found. He didn't wish they had not been as lucky as he had been unlucky; far from it. He just wished…

It hurt less, all those years later. Still hurt. Probably always would. But it wasn't the overwhelming agony that it used to be. Claude still wasn't sure if it was because time had lessened the pain, or that he had simply grown so accustomed to it that he no longer realised its extent. He wasn't sure it really mattered.

He sighed, turning away from the garden. He wanted what everyone else seemed to have. Claude thought that he was nearly ready for it—not quite there yet, but close. Soon able to finally move on.

Oh, whoever Claude married wouldn't be Byleth. Expecting that of anyone would be unfair. The role that she had filled in his life was entirely unique. She had been more than just the love of his life; she had been the partner that walked in sync with him, who shared his dreams with him.

But that didn't mean that he couldn't have a partner again. Someone who could fill a different place in his life, who he could let in behind the walls around his heart. Someone he could love in the present, not the past. He thought he might be capable of that again one day soon.

"I'll have to take it slow," Claude said aloud, rubbing at his beard. He didn't even have a candidate in mind. Claude might have been the most powerful man in Fódlan and Almyra, but that didn't mean he had to bend to politics in every aspect of his life.

There would be no political marriages for him. Claude would marry for nothing less than love. He had witnessed his parents' marriage, decades of love for one another, being each other's strength. He would settle for nothing less.

But a man in his position had to be wary of rank-climbers. There were plenty of people out there that would fake affection simply to gain position. There were just as many who would love the idea of who he was, rather than the reality of the man. Claude had seen what that had done to Sylvain—he didn't want that for himself.

He shook his head, smiling at himself in disbelief. Was he really contemplating this? It must be the weather, Claude decided. It brought out odd feelings in a man.

"Not yet," he told the air. The weight of the ring hanging from his neck pressed against his skin. "But maybe soon."

* * *

_Derdriu, Guardian Moon, Year 1185_

She managed to get separated from the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force in the midst of the fighting. The flow of battle took Byleth towards the gate, leaving a path of bodies in her wake.

She was very good at killing. They never stood a chance.

But soon the defenders— _enemies, they're enemies_ —thinned, until Byleth was standing alone in a sea of corpses. She stood there, covered in blood and panting, turning this way and that as she looked for the next danger.

But she was the only living among the dead and dying.

Byleth scrubbed her eyes on her sleeve, smearing blood across her face. She lowered the Sword of the Creator, letting the glow die. Craning her head, she searched for the rest of her compatriots.

Then her eyes fell on the nearby docks, and a whiff of red.

That was where Claude would be.

Byleth was moving before she realised, slow steps at first, then breaking into a run. She had to see him. Had to convince him to leave, save himself. He still had Almyra—Fódlan was already lost, thrashing in its dying throes. He didn't have to go down with it.

As she grew closer, a familiar voice carried to her on the wind, bits and pieces of sentences.

" _If I die here, the Alliance becomes part of the Empire—_ "

"— _I'm responsible for the others—_ "

"— _wouldn't it be better to let me go?_ "

Then a scream, and Byleth's world stood still.

She was close enough to see the gory scene, painted in vivid detail. Edelgard's boot on his chest, next to where she had her axe implanted in it. Blood, crimson, pooling in a yellow jacket.

Claude, lying on the ground with his bow out of reach, gasping as blood trickled from his mouth.

"I—see," he managed to say, his face deathly white. "Right until the very end, I've read this whole thing terribly wrong."

Byleth stopped beside him and Edelgard, looking down at him. His emerald eyes were wide, afraid. "All my hopes have fallen to ash," he whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

Then he raised one trembling hand, fingers wrapping around Edelgard's ankle, still pushing on his chest. "It's all up to you now, Edelgard," he said, voice stronger. "I hope you really do make the world… better…"

His head turned, and his eyes locked onto Byleth for a moment. There was an ocean of feeling in his eyes. Then the light faded from them, and his hand slumped back to the ground.

Byleth couldn't stop staring at him. He was so still. His cheek was bruised, his other arm twisted at an odd angle. His hair was matted with blood. But nothing compared to the blood that pooled around his torso.

Edelgard tugged the axe out. Claude's blood still dripped from it, but the Emperor barely spared it or him a glance as she stepped away. No, Edelgard was not one to look back. She only ever looked forward.

Byleth was barely cognisant of the conversation that followed. Her head still spun, and her stomach roiled unpleasantly. All she knew was that she was being argumentative, and that Edelgard was growing visibly frustrated with her. As soon as Edelgard dismissed her, Byleth bolted. She left the Black Eagle Strike Force and the battlefield far behind, found a deserted alley, and threw up all the contents of her stomach.

 _This is it_ , she told herself as she scrubbed out her mouth with the water in her flask. The taste was bitter, but she couldn't bring herself to care. _This is the line that I can never turn back from._

Nothing was worth this. No answers, no war. A world without Claude, where he died a horrific death without ever seeing his dreams come to fruition—that was not a world that Byleth wanted to live in. She would rather be caught in this loop for eternity, living life after life, than live with the memory of his death.

Yet there she stood, his enemy. The person who failed to save him—failed to save _anyone_. No matter what Byleth did, the war continued. Everyone died, again and again and again until only Byleth was left, screaming her pain at the unending blue sky.

And she _was_ screaming, Byleth realised. She locked her jaw shut, cutting off the sound. A glance at the opening to the alley showed that no one had come running. It was a small relief.

Tears spilled openly down her face. Even with her mouth shut, she couldn't suppress the whine in her throat. Every time she tried to get herself under control, the memory of the light leaving Claude's eyes flashed behind her eyelids and made it all start again.

Byleth slid down the alley wall, curling into the foetal position at the bottom. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face in them. She tried to ride the grief out, muffling her sounds.

By the time Byleth had regained a modicum of control, the sun was nearly set. The alley was cast into shadow. Any passerby who looked in would likely miss her, huddled in the dark.

The army would be leaving at first light, no doubt. They wouldn't stay in Derdriu long. They would begin the long trek to Faerghus, but the Black Eagle Strike Force would return to Garreg Mach to plan. And they would expect Byleth to come with them.

For a while, Byleth contemplated not going back. She could slip away, there and then. By the time they realised she was missing, she could be long gone, far beyond their reach.

But would what be the point? The war would continue. Edelgard would raze all of Fódlan to see to that. Byleth still wouldn't have her answers.

And Claude would still be dead.

She couldn't walk away now. No, Byleth would have to see this out until the end.

She would have to walk by Edelgard, being her support and tactician, never letting on just how much she hated the woman. She would have to fight at Fhirdiad, this time to sack it instead of save it. She would no doubt have to watch Dimitri die in the same way that Claude did, at the edge of Edelgard's axe.

Then once the war was done, she would have to start it all over again.

"I want to go home," Byleth muttered into her legs. One last tear dripped down her face, splashing into the fabric. "Please, I just want to go home."

Home was a person, not a place. This world would never be home. Not now.

Byleth stood. Her legs wobbled after so long in the same position. The sun was fully set now, the first stars beginning to appear in the sky. From her position, Byleth couldn't see the devastation of the battlefield.

The smell of blood and decaying flesh was the only sign of what had happened that day. Byleth breathed it in. It no longer bothered her, not after growing up with it.

She set her face to stone, masking her earlier pain. Only her red-rimmed eyes would hint at it. Then she walked out of the alley and back to Edelgard.

She did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though Claude is the type to keep his struggles to himself, he does have a support network around him that will not let him fall. But Byleth? The price of being a vessel of a goddess stuck in a time loop is that every time she builds support, her timeline gets reset. As a result, she's really not coping.
> 
> Crimson Flower was the last route I played, and I was horrified at the choice I had to make. My sense of appropriate levels of drama/angst meant that there was only one option I could go with.
> 
> There's one more chapter after this, folks. That happy ending is finally coming up. After everything I've put them through, they deserve it.


	5. Afterwards

_Fhirdiad, Great Tree Moon, Year 1186_

It was over. Finally, it was over.

And this time, Byleth wasn't turning to dust.

She sat on a rock with a view of the city, turning her hands over and over in front of her, watching. They should have been showing signs of the fading by now, but there they were. Perfectly normal, flesh and blood hands.

Was it because she had lived on every side of the war? Or was it something to do with the way her hair and eyes were now back to their original colour? She wasn't sure.

All she knew was that she was tired. So very tired. She had lived through too many years of way, too many deaths. And this was not the world that she would have picked as the one she would finally stay in. She was on the wrong side of the war that she had fought so many times.

The thought was a spike of agony in Byleth's heart. Homesickness squeezed her chest, making it difficult for her to breath. She can't go back. That time had been undone, and Byleth had lost her power. Her hair and eyes were proof enough of that.

Footsteps neared. Byleth glanced up long enough to identify Sylvain before her gaze dropped back to her hands. The man paused in front of her for a moment, then sat on the rock next to her, his shoulders pressed against hers.

They stayed sitting in silence for a time. Whatever Sylvain was there for, he was willing to be patient about it. He simply sat with her and watched the bustle of the city.

As they sat there, a familiar pair walked up to the city gates. Even from a distance, Byleth could recognise Felix's gait, Dorothea's cascading hair. They stayed very close to one another as they walked in step. Too close to be casual.

"It's strange," Byleth eventually said. "How many different ways people can find happiness."

Sylvain chuckled. She felt it vibrate through her arm. "Felix and Dorothea? It's not that strange. It's been coming for a while now. Don't tell me you never noticed."

She shook her head. "Not that. I'm not that blind. It's just…" She remembered lifetimes passed. Seeing Felix watch Annette sing in the library, eyes intent as he drank in every moment. Then another lifetime, where he shadowed Bernadetta's every step. Now, it was Dorothea's turn.

"There's so many people that everyone could love, if they had the opportunity." It wasn't just Felix whose heart could be won in different ways. Over the course of her many lives, Byleth had seen so many different couples form. Relationships that weren't any better or worse, just fulfilling in different ways.

"Of course," Sylvain said, nudging her. "Why stick to just one pretty girl?" His tone was light, but Byleth could see right through him.

She glanced at him. "Not you. You're… steady."

He gave her a disbelieving look, his eyebrows practically shooting up into his hair. "That is _not_ a word anyone has used to describe me in a romantic sense," he told her. "Are you well? You didn't hit your head in the last fight, did you?"

Byleth didn't shy away as he reached for her hairline, intent on searching her for hidden wounds. She narrowed her eyes at him. "For how long have you loved Ingrid?"

His hand froze an inch from her face. It hung there for a few moments before he pulled it back. Sylvain's mouth worked, no sound coming out. Just as he looked about to speak, Byleth gave him the same look that she had given him when she had spoken to him about his manners as a student.

Sylvain watched her for a bit, eyes wide. Then he turned away, dropping his gaze. "You always saw right through me," he said with a laugh too bitter to be fake. "I thought I'd hidden it well."

Byleth's mouth twitched. "I've known you too long." Longer than he knew. Then the almost-smile dropped from her face. "How do you…" Byleth stumbled over her words.

He looked at her, his expression still hinting at his bitterness. "How do I what?"

"How do you manage? Losing her?"

Sylvain stayed quiet for a while, turning to the city. Eventually, he turned back to her. "I think I should be asking you the same question."

Byleth blanched. "What do you mean?"

He gestured at her. "You carry your loss well. I don't think most people have realised. But now that I'm feeling that same pain… it's obvious, my friend."

_My friend_. The words echoed in her mind in a different voice. She scrunched her eyes shut. "It doesn't matter. He's long gone."

"Longer than you've been at the monastery for," Sylvain mused out loud, still watching her. "But Sir Jeralt didn't know, did he? And he spent every day with you. How could he not?"

It was her turn to laugh, low and mirthless. "My father didn't know everything to do with my life." In all those lives, she had never told him about what she had been through. And every time, he died not knowing who or what she truly was.

"There's more," Sylvain continued. His eyes bored into her. "The way you look at us… it's like you're not seeing us. Actually, no, scratch that. It's like you're seeing _more_ than us."

"What do you mean?" Every instinct pressed at Byleth to clam up, to walk away. Not to let anyone in. Not to let herself be vulnerable, to have her weaknesses discovered.

But this was Sylvain. He had followed her in every lifetime, even as older loyalties tried to pull him back. He was steady, in more ways that one.

"You've always known what was happening around you. More than you let on. And you knew _us_ , right from the beginning."

She could see his mind whirring behind his eyes. Most people mistook Sylvain for nothing more or less than how he acted. Those people were fools. Sylvain had always been far smarter than he looked.

Byleth could see the pieces click together in Sylvain's mind, could see the moment that realisation dawned on him. "How many times have you fought this war?"

And there it was. Her biggest secret, hanging out in the open. Byleth swallowed. She wouldn't lie. Not now. "Four," she managed.

She heard Sylvain's sharp intake of air. Byleth averted her eyes, no longer interested in seeing the information sink in. What would he do with it? Would he tell Edelgard?

"And how many more times will you fight it?" he asked instead.

She locked her hands together in her lap. "I won't. I—I _can't_. It's over."

Silence. Then his voice, far softer. "If it's over, then why aren't you happy about it?"

There was Sylvain, seeing right to the heart of things as usual.

"I—I didn't choose this," she said. Her hands were so tightly clenched that her knuckles were white. "This isn't—I can't—" How could she possibly find the words to explain?

"This isn't where you would have chosen to end," he interpreted. He rested a hand over hers, squeezing. "You never really wanted to fight at Edelgard's side, did you?"

Her hair flew everywhere at how hard she shook her head. "Fódlan burned," she said. "It's not worth it. Was never worth it."

Sylvain shuffled closer, looping his spare arm around her waist and tugging her to her chest. "Yet I followed you anyway," he said into her hair, resting his chin on the top of her head. "More fool me."

She hiccoughed a laugh. "You're no fool, Sylvain." His heart beat steadily under her cheek. Though they were closer than Byleth ever normally allowed, closer than proprietary dictated, there was nothing romantic about it. Not when both of them still desperately loved someone else.

"What will you do now?" he eventually asked.

Byleth closed her eyes. "There's still the fight against Those Who Slither In The Dark. This war might be over, but that one is barely beginning."

His hand started to card through her hair. "Do you really want to fight in yet another war?"

No, she didn't. But did she have a choice?

"What would you do? If you could do anything. Go anywhere. Where would you go?"

"I…" she hesitated to say it. To say it out loud was to acknowledge that it could not happen. "I want to go home. But I can't."

Byleth knew that he knew that she wasn't talking about a place, but a time. "Why not?"

She moved her head, forcing his attention to her hair. "Even if I knew how, I've lost my power. Home is… out of reach."

His arms tightened around her. "You don't know that until you try."

Byleth didn't understand. She pulled herself out of his embrace, got to her feet and stood in front of him. "What do you mean? It's impossible. Besides," she said with a broken smile, "Edelgard still needs me."

It didn't matter that hatred for her had settled deep into Byleth's heart. She couldn't just ignore someone who needed her, no matter how much she felt about them. And Edelgard needed her then, more than ever.

Sylvain looked up at her. There was a determination in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "You haven't tried," he repeated. "Professor— _Byleth_ —you deserve the chance to follow your own path. To hell with Edelgard. What about _you_?"

She looked at him blankly. What about her? Her own desires were so far down her list of priorities that they barely rated a mention. She had spent life after life running around after everyone else, and she didn't know how _not_ to do that.

"I'll help. If you want to try and get back." Sylvain wasn't wearing his normal laid-back expression. No, his face was lit up with the same resolution that Byleth had only ever seen aimed at Dimitri, at the end of that particular life.

There were very few people that Sylvain would count as close. But for those people, he would move the world. She had seen it time and time again.

She simply never expected herself to be counted among them. Not like that.

And his determination was contagious. Seeing it flaring so brightly in Sylvain's eyes—it sparked an ember in her own. What if she _could_? For once, Byleth had all the time in the world. She wasn't actively fading away any more.

"I want to." Her voice was small, barely there. It was almost lost in Sylvain's clothes as she moved forward to hug him again. Her fingers clenched into fists, gripping handfuls of his tunic. Saying it out loud… this time, it made it seem like it really could happen.

The ember grew into a flame, one that threatened to consume her. To _hell_ with Edelgard, and Those Who Slither In The Dark. Even if there was nothing left for her to go back to—she had to try. If Sylvain believed that she could, then she would rend the world to find a way.

Not all of Byleth had come from Sothis, from Rhea. There was the part of her that was purely Jeralt, the man strong enough to bear the burden of multiple lifetimes without ever breaking. A man who had been dealt tragedy and heartbreak, and had risen above it to raise the defective child that resulted from it into a warrior who could stand tall.

Sylvain hummed his satisfaction at her response. "That's the Professor I know." He let her go when she squirmed out of his hold, locking his arms behind his head in his usual pose.

Byleth stood in front of him, looking at him. The fire burned through her blood, centred in her non-beating heart. Her lips slowly curled upwards. It wasn't a pleasant look.

She held out her hand to raise him to his feet. "Come on. We have work to do."

* * *

_Garreg Mach, Ethereal Moon, Year 1192_

Memories tugged at Claude as he weaved his way through the grounds of Garreg Mach. He had spent the best years of his life there, both as a student and as the Leader of the Alliance. Even though they were also marked by horror and tragedy, they were where he had first learned to trust in other people.

It was crowded outside, even with the bitter cold of the winter wind. The usual priests and nuns hurried around in their duties, escorting churchgoers. Students in the uniforms of the Officer's Academy darted between them, running to their lessons or chores. Many of them stopped and stared when they caught sight of him.

Claude smiled at seeing the different coloured uniforms. One of the changes that Seteth had introduced was to stop delimiting the students by their country of origin. After all, everywhere was Fódlan now. Students from all areas were shuffled into all the Houses, where they would spend the year with people they may never have met before.

It was just one of the ways in which they were breaking down the barriers. What Claude really wanted to see in the future was students not just from Fódlan, but from other countries too. Alymra, Sreng, Brigid, Dagda… to see them walk side by side in the same uniforms would show him that his dream was coming true.

But Claude wasn't there to get caught up in nostalgia. He quickened his pace, taking care to greet those he passed without stopping. Before long, his feet had carried him across the bridge and into the cathedral.

He could see Seteth standing in front of the altar, a point of stillness as everyone moved around him. He still wore the same garments as when Claude had lived at the monastery, despite his loftier position. Claude's smile slipped away as he drew closer, noting the tension in the other man's shoulders.

This was going to be more serious than he was expecting.

Claude stopped beside Seteth, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. He darted a glance at the man, seeing the lines of weariness around his eyes. This was more than the stressful workload of the Archbishop. Something was troubling him.

"You wanted to see me?" Claude said at last, not sure whether Seteth had noticed his presence. "Or did you just want some company for the road?" The Festival was only a few days away, after all. It was the one time of year that Seteth normally allowed himself to take a break from his work.

The man shook himself out of his reverie, turning to face Claude. The harsh set of his face made him seem older than usual. Out of force of habit, Claude wracked his brain for anything he might have done to cause it.

"I did," Seteth said. "There's…" his voice trailed off. "Your majesty. I'm not sure how to explain."

"You can start by dropping the _majesty_ ," Claude said pointedly. "You know my name. You've used it too often lecturing me over the years. Unless," Claude paused. "Is this supposed to be an official visit? You never said what it was about."

Seteth shook his head. "No, this is not something that concerns the King. At least, I don't think it does yet. This is personal."

That wasn't reassuring in the least. What was personal for Seteth that troubled him so badly that he needed to reach out to Claude? The two of them had forged a friendship over the years, but Claude would not have put himself as the first person Seteth would confide in, far from it.

The Archbishop breathed in deeply, relaxing his hands from behind his back. "Maybe it would be better if you follow me. I'll try and explain on the way."

Claude raised an eyebrow but obediently fell instead step at Seteth's side. Instead of going back to the main grounds, Seteth began walking towards the entrance to the Holy Tomb.

It was Claude's turn to tense. Nothing good ever happened in the Holy Tomb. It was the scene of the failed Revelation; of the first reveal of Edelgard's identity as the Flame Emperor.

"What's this about?" Claude asked, deliberately pitching his voice not to carry.

Seteth didn't look at him as he spoke. "For the past two weeks, there's been… Well. I have no better way to say it, but strange… energies coming from the Holy Tomb."

Claude hissed. "The Argathans?"

"No. At least, I think not." They reached the elevator. The conversation paused while Seteth started it up. The mechanism groaned and rattled as it descended deep underneath the Cathedral.

"It's why I asked you to come here," Seteth continued. "Not as the King. But of all people not of my kin, you know the most about us."

"I'm surprised you didn't get Flayn to come instead," Calude commented.

Seteth's mouth tightened. "No. She has her own life, now. I don't want her caught up in this if I can help it."

At first, Claude was inclined to chalk this up to Seteth's paranoia. It had been years since there had been any signs of the Argathans, and there was no one left of Seteth's people. Maybe the man was feeling his age, and the loss of Rhea. Maybe he was simply on edge because he missed Flayn.

Then Claude began to feel it too as they went deeper. There was something in the atmosphere. A cold that burned. It both sent shivers down his spine, and seared at his skin.

"I see." Claude's hand twitched. He loosened his sword in its sheath, regretting that he had left Failnaught back in the room he was staying in. He hadn't expected danger here, not now.

He felt exposed without his bow. It wasn't a good feeling.

The elevator reached the bottom with a _thud_ that echoed through the chamber. Claude looked askance at the green lighting, squinting into the deep shadows. As far as he could tell, they were alone there.

"Maybe we should have brought backup," Claude murmured in Seteth's ear as the two men began to walk towards the centre of the room. What he would give to have his Deer at his back right now.

Seteth shook his head. "I do not think it would help. We are quite alone down here."

"You came down yourself?" Claude realised that he'd done a bad job of covering up the disapproval when Seteth shot him a stern look. He mollified his tone for his next words. "Neither you nor I are considered expendable these days, my friend. A bit more caution would be prudent."

"Strange words, coming from you of all people," Seteth shot back. Claude gave a rueful smile. They both knew that Claude had spent too many years taking risks and sticking his nose where it didn't belong to be chiding anyone for not being cautious enough now.

But the smile was quick to fade in the oppressing atmosphere of the Holy Tomb. Levity died as they stood in the centre of the room, turning around, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing. As far as Claude could tell, the place was undisturbed since the last time they had been there, over a decade previously.

"Let's split up and check on everything," Claude suggested. "I'll take the right side. You take the left. Meet back here in an hour?" That was more than enough time to do a very thorough sweep. While the Holy Tomb was massive, it was mainly empty.

Seteth agreed, and the two men parted to search their respective areas. Claude kept glancing over his shoulder as he walked the Tomb, checking to make sure that Seteth was still there. He was half expecting to turn around and find himself utterly alone.

Memories tugged at him—memories of _her_. Of Byleth. This place was forever associated with her in his mind. He could almost hear her yelling commands at them as they tried to save the Crest Stones.

He brushed his hand over one of the tombs as he passed it, wondering if the Crest Stones were inside once more. If he were Seteth, he would have taken them all far away, where the Argathans could never find them. But the man was more attached to this place than Claude could begin to imagine. He doubted the man would have done so.

Seteth would have locked this place up tight, and made sure no one could come back to steal them. Then he would have buried the knowledge of its existence as deeply as he could manage, until all memory of it was lost to time.

Claude shifted uncomfortably. He resisted the urge to shiver from the cold. There was a prickling in between his shoulder-blades, and a rising sense of anticipation. Every nerve was on edge. It felt like something was about to happen—or was already happening.

But the hour passed without incident, and Claude found nothing. He sent Seteth a questioning glance as they met up in the centre again, only to have the man shake his head. No luck there either.

So why did the feeling keep getting stronger?

They stood there in silence for a while, not quite game to leave. Claude found it difficult to meet Seteth's eyes. His gaze kept turning to the stairs—and the throne.

She had looked so uncomfortable, sitting there. Knowing that nothing was going to happen, but both hoping for it and dreading it. Claude's throat worked as he stared at it. It was so long ago. He was just a boy on the brink of adulthood.

The war had fixed that quickly enough.

Finally, Seteth huffed, breaking the silence. "I apologise for wasting your time. I was expecting… I don't know what I was expecting."

"But you still feel it too."

"Yes." Seteth looked weary. The green light made his skin seem sallow. "But whatever is causing it, we will not be finding answers today."

Claude sighed, finding himself in agreement. His curiosity burned to understand, but he had responsibilities he couldn't abandon. He couldn't stay there, waiting for whatever might come.

That was the price of his dreams. It was one he was willing to pay, if it meant seeing the world become a happier place.

The two men began to walk back in the direction of the elevator. Only a few steps later, Claude froze.

There was a tinge of gold in the corner of his eye.

He whirled around. Gold dust was travelling on an invisible breeze, flowing towards the throne. Though it had been years since he'd seen anything like it, Claude immediately recognised it as the same as that day he had lost her.

Claude took a step towards the base of the stairs. The dust flowed up, swirling. It gave off a golden glow that bathed the throne in light. Soon, it was a writhing vortex above the throne.

The light intensified, growing painful. Claude threw his arms in front of his eyes. He strained to see past it, but found himself closing them instead as the light grew blinding. There was a ringing in his ears, and the smell of ozone burned his nostrils.

There was magic here. No, not just magic—this was divine in nature.

The ringing grew louder. There was a pressure, pressing down against him. Claude hunched his back, digging into the ground with his heels to brace himself. He would _not_ back down, no matter what was happening. That was his duty.

Then all at once, it all faded. The pressure disappeared, and the light faded away. The burning cold from before was gone.

Everything was still.

Claude opened his eyes.

There was a figure sitting on the throne. She was dressed in tattered swordmaster's armour, battered from too much battle and a little singed.

As Claude watched her, the mint green colour leached from her hair, until it was dark blue. The dust settled around her, no longer possessing the mystical quality of earlier.

She opened her eyes. They glowed green, but like her hair, that too faded. Soon, they were as blue as they day they first met.

She didn't see them at first. She shuddered, limbs twitching. Then she began to stand.

Claude moved before he was aware of it. He took the stairs two at a time, made it up just in time to catch her as she staggered. He gripped her upper arms, steadying her, holding her upright until her legs straightened.

He had half expected his hands to go straight through her again. Instead, she was warm and solid in his grip.

She looked at him. Her eyes started unfocused, but gradually sharpened as she grew aware of her surroundings—of Claude.

Self-consciousness gripped him. He knew he looked older than when he lost her. He looked akin to Seteth's eternal age now. After all, he was nearly thirty, with a decade of the responsibility of leadership under his belt. It wore on him.

On the other hand, she didn't look like she had aged a day since—since the Goddess Tower. Physically, she looked no older than ever. But her eyes… Claude swallowed. Those were the eyes of someone who had been pushed past the point of breaking.

She blinked, gaze intent on his face. Her eyes were wide, her expression as unfathomable as ever. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again.

"…Claude?" she whispered. He could almost taste her disbelief.

"Byleth," he gasped. His voice cracked on her name. He shuddered from the effort it took to hold himself together as his emotions swelled like the ocean, threatening to drown him.

What a fool he was, to have ever believed he could love someone else like that. It seemed that time had dulled only the memory, not the emotion. She was the only one who could break through every last one of his walls with nothing else but the sound of his name.

"You… you faded," he whispered, drinking her in with his eyes. Watching the way her chest rose and fell with her breathing, her pulse racing at her throat. He couldn't get enough of the sight of her.

At his words, she inhaled sharply. Byleth reached up, trailing her fingers across his cheek. He trembled and leaned into the touch. A bright smile bloomed on her face.

"Claude." This time, it sounded like a prayer answered. Then she threw herself into his arms.

He clutched her to him. She was warm in his embrace. He buried his face in her hair, as she pressed hers against the crook of his neck. Behind him, he could hear Seteth's footsteps fading away as he gave them some privacy.

Tears streamed down his face, soaking her hair. He laughed, hiccuping as it turned into a sob. He hadn't cried since the last time he had seen her. He hadn't realised he was still capable of tears.

Her arms twined around him, pressing them as close together as they could manage. She kept repeating his name, each time causing his heart to expand in his chest.

"Byleth," he whispered, smiling so widely that his jaw hurt, even as he tasted the salt of his unending tears.

"Welcome home."

* * *

_Derdriu, Ethereal Moon, Year 1192_

Hilda tapped her foot. She crossed her arms, glaring at the empty doorway.

"He's late."

"He's busy," Lysithea countered as she walked past Hilda with a plate of cake. "Running two countries is a lot of work."

Hilda eyed the cake as Lysithea continued past. It was far too early for cake—they had the rest of the feast to get through, after all. But she knew better than to get between the young mage and her cake. Hilda didn't have a death wish, after all.

Ignatz slipped an arm around her. "He'll be here," he told her, pulling her close. "We just need to be patient."

Hilda sighed, leaning her head against Ignatz's shoulder. "I'm worried about him."

She didn't need to tell Ignatz about how rundown Claude looked lately. Or the way his eyes would grow distant at random moments, his thoughts twisting far beyond their reach. Or the way that food looked like it was becoming more and more of a chore for Claude, instead of a pleasure.

He already knew. They all did. And they were helpless to do anything about it. When it came to deflecting attention, Claude was a master, and he was willing to pull out all stops to get them to stop worrying about him.

"This will be good for him," Ignatz told the top of her head. "Maybe we should do this more often than just once a year."

There was a light knock on the door. Hilda perked up, craning her neck to see past the others at the new arrival. Her eyes widened when she saw Seteth's green hair instead of Claude's dark brown.

The Archbishop never came on time to the reunions, and never stayed long. Hilda suspected that he still blamed himself for what happened to the Professor. But he at least made an appearance every year before swooping back to the monastery.

Then her eyes narrowed at him. Seteth seemed… _softer_ , was the only word she could use. Not soft in the way he got when working on his fables, but more like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Had he finally forgiven himself? It was about time.

Hilda pressed her cheek against Ignatz's shoulder then pushed off him, making her way over to Seteth. Her mind spun as she approached him, trying to decide what way was most likely to get the information she desired.

The man didn't even flinch as she drew nearer. Instead, he greeted her with a smile.

"Hilda," he said, surprising her again. Not _Lady Goneril_ like he often insisted on. Goddess, the man was so stuffy. "They'll be along in a moment."

_They?_ Hilda turned and did a quick scan of the room. Everyone was there—even Sylvain and Ingrid had made the trip, coming all the way from their home in far north Faerghus. Everyone except Claude.

That could only mean—

"Is he bringing someone?" she burst out.

Seteth's smile turned softer still. "You will see." He glanced over his shoulder and stepped inside the room, leaving the doorway clear.

Barely a moment later, Claude strode into the room, tugging someone along with him.

Hilda looked at him first, an old habit she had no intention of breaking. He looked _good_ , she noticed. Claude held himself straighter, no longer like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. There was a light in his eyes that she hadn't seen in years, and his _smile_ —it was real, and blinding.

Clearly, love had been good for him. Hilda didn't recognise the dark-haired woman whose hand he had yet to release. She wondered how he had managed to court her underneath all their noses, keeping her secret all this time, only to bring her to the reunion for her first meeting. It was a bit much for the poor woman, making her deal with all of them in one go.

Then the woman lifted her head, and Hilda's drink slipped out of her hand to crash onto the floor. Water splashed all over the floorboards, and the goblet rolled out of sight.

It had been a decade since she saw eyes that colour, but Hilda had never forgotten them.

"Hilda?" Sylvain noticed the commotion first. "What's going— _Professor?!_ "

Sylvain's voice rang clear across the room, commanding everyone's attention. There was a moment of stillness as everyone took in the woman standing before them. Then they all swarmed her at once.

It was a few minutes before Hilda was able to extract herself from the impromptu group hug. Her cheeks hurt from how wide she smiled, and she breathed deeply after being squished too hard to gasp for air.

Claude had not let go of the Professor's—of _Byleth's_ hand the whole time. Hilda was impressed by his tenacity in the face of the sheer enthusiasm of the Golden Deer. Her eyes followed his hand to Byleth's fingers, seeing a familiar ring shining.

Ignatz extracted himself from the huddle, coming over to Hilda and wrapping his arm around her waist, splaying his hand across her still-flat stomach. Hilda entwined her fingers with his, unable to stop beaming.

For the first time since the war, the Golden Deer were whole again. And to Hilda, the future had never looked brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it: Claude and Byleth finally get their happy ending. It's been one hell of a ride, and I'm glad to see them reach it. After all the bad times I put them through, they deserved nice things.
> 
> I've got a few more ideas bumping around my head. The next work I'm going to tackle will involve Claude, Byleth, Nemesis and the Ten Elites in their original glory, and a lot of unresolved tension. I hope to start posting that one sometime in August.
> 
> Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and I hope to see you back next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Fire Emblem: Three Houses sucked me in, and has refused to let me go. When I first saw the final battle cutscene for Verdant Wind, it struck me - what if Byleth was like Nemesis? And what if Claude was forced to continue on, while Byleth kept repeating the routes? Claude had big dreams, almost too big for one man, and Byleth's centre had always been the people she surrounded herself with. How they coped when they were forced apart was a tale begging to be told.
> 
> This was the result. The story is complete, and will be updated every few days.


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